


Between Words We Make Ashes Into Stars

by GodOfWar



Series: My Big Bro, Serpent of Eden [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Archangels as Siblings (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Needs a Hug (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a Little Shit (Good Omens), Broken Bones, Crowley Created the Stars (Good Omens), Crowley Has an Imagination (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Needs a Hug (Good Omens), Crowley Was Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), Crowley has Phd's change my mind, Crowley is a Good Bro, Crowley to the Rescue (Good Omens), Crying, Demon Summoning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fallen Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), For a bit anyway, Forehead Kisses, Gabriel is a jerk, Happy Ending, Hell, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Lucifer Hung the Stars (Lucifer TV), Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) Needs A Hug, Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) is a Mess, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Ruler of Hell Crowley (Good Omens), Science, Stars, Summoning Circles, Wings, injuries, nearly, this baby holds so much 'ouch'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:00:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29501682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GodOfWar/pseuds/GodOfWar
Summary: Considering over 700 kudos on Brother Mine I present to you - a sequel with pretentious title.Lucifer just wants to go home.And Crowley wants nothing more then to get his homeback.Or Chloe Decker is doing a Satan summoning and succeeds. Amenadiel continues to be baffled and unhelpful as always. Lucifer is soft and should learn to communicate better. Aziraphale has a thing for leather and cuddles. Crowley is a physics teacher who uses ducks for nefarious deeds.They all need a hug.Only two of those things mean anything to the plot.
Relationships: (background), Amenadiel (Lucifer TV) & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale (Good Omens) & Crowley (Good Omens) & Chloe Decker & Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Aziraphale (Good Omens) & Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar, Crowley & Warlock Dowling, Crowley (Good Omens) & Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Crowley (Good Omens) & Mazikeen (Lucifer TV), Warlock Dowling/Adam Young
Series: My Big Bro, Serpent of Eden [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2174100
Comments: 10
Kudos: 104





	1. Anybody there?

**Author's Note:**

> This work is finished. I'll post the rest once I pick the spelling a bit.  
> I suggests reading the previous part [Brother Mine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23451598) so it would make a tiny bit more sense.
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Comments and Kudos feed the author so let me know if you liked it :)

When she lands her eyes on the being that materialises out of nowhere in a cloud of reddish dust, she knows that it was not a person she'd wanted to see. 

It's been three whole months. Three long months without Lucifer being…frankly bloody menace, but _their_ bloody menace. The evidence-touching, pudding-stealing, coffee-bringing wonderful disaster of a man. Angel. Devil. That bloody idiot who went and broke all their hearts and his own too, attempting to do what was right. 

Chloe tried to get over it. 

Lick her wounds, end the tears feasts she had the moment her head hit the pillow. Get herself together like he'd never left and was just a car ride away. She had dealt with countless problems over the years and she promised herself that she would not let Lucifer's absence pull her out of having a normal everyday life.

And it went bollocks over teakettle, because she was not the only one who missed him fiercely - they're all are wishing for him to be back deeply enough to hatch and go through with this madness. 

The evidence of which was splattered over the penthouse, leaving a fine powdery red layer over the floor and furniture.

The sigils faded from the hot red color they glowed a moment before and once again looked like a child scribbles made with gold marker on expensive parquet. Amenadiel, when the idea was proposed, didn't even bother hiding his disapproval, but reluctantly went along with it, knowing she would do it on her own regardless if he was there or not. He might have had a point in being here, after all. She, to her eternal shame, had been better prepared for one big amount of nothing coming out of the summoning circle but not at all for somebody other than Lucifer. She was sure there is something in beginner occultist's manual about not summoning anything you aren't capable of sending back. Thankfully she had an angel for the job. He made a step toward the circle, uncrossing his arms, ready to do…whatever he wished to do with innocent (well, this time) victim of their fallen scheme. Maybe they should have waited for the rest of their company before attempting…Satan summoning. She fights down the urge to laugh hysterically at the fact that they may have become the first successful Satanists.

The…being-imp? angel? demon? Lovecraftian monster on a holiday trip? Whatever the creature is, they look…fashionable. For some reason she expected more nakedness and leather. Perhaps some glowing, maybe ribbons of smoke. But no, while unusual, the outfit was not strange enough by Earth standards. They are, for one, wrapped in a very large black head scarf. It's littered with small blood red poppies in every corner and along the edges, while two blue birds with black smoky eyes and dark collars sit stitched somewhere on the creature's chest. The thread was slightly raised from the thick material and, with no sight of anything resembling print, there was no way it was a work of machine. It covered the being's disproportionately large head, mouth, shoulders and chest, its longest part brushing just above the snake belt holding wide dove-gray wool pants. The black coat left open over slim figure ends only just about an inch above the soles of the clunky heavy boots that could kill a lesser man with its steelcapped toes and thick soles. The only thing visible of their face is a long straight slope of lightly tanned nose. A hand covered in fingerless black gloves raises to the scarf and hooks the fingers tinted with chipped gold nail polish under material. It slides from their head, showing that it gained the distorted shape by covering the dark gray fur of ushanka and a tumble of cork-screw locks, burning a red so deep and dark it looks like downing sun over the ocean. He takes the hat away, shaking his head and making the glossy locks fly, except by some law of physics, the untied braid that dangles in the back stays where it is. He throws ushanka carelessly away on the sofa, tugging slightly on the scarf to uncover the rest of his face.

"Crowley." It slides easily from her tongue not even thinking about using his other name, not after what he did for both her and Lucifer. She of course asked her partner about his grouchy sibling after this whole mess wit Cain was over, needing to know more about her one time visitor. She didn't foresee opening the gates to the part of Lucifer's history that held less self-loathing and hurts and more near hero worship and selfless love. Crowley took care of Lucifer's well being even when he couldn't remember his own name, much less that they were brothers. As much as he was able to, being one little demon among millions. And then came the second he was called once his memories were once more his own. No expectations and no pretensions. 

No judgement.

It wasn't hard to see why Lucifer adored his older brother. 

"Detective!" Her throat closed up and she swallowed hard at the use of the moniker, blinking off the unwanted wetness in her eyes she watched him with a blurry vision. He turned left and right, body strangely fluid, loose, like not all bones were attached in the ways they were supposed to and somehow that two seconds were enough for him to arrive to conclusion. "Where is he? Where is Lucifer?"

"In Hell."

As the pair of yellow eyes bore into her she once again cemented her belief that Crowley was the most dangerous of the four non-humans she knew. Lucifer was a king of Hell, Maze his Torturer, Amenadiel might be a God's Fury but this placid creature with lazy tilt of his head and non-violent disposition somehow had a small part of her brain cover in the corner and whimper 'run' like it was a broken record. She'd never saw him fight, he had the musculature of a ballet dancer which made him maybe only two thirds of Amenadiel's mass, his eyes didn't burn with the fires of damnation and he was, as far as she could tell, entirely unarmed. And yet he was a person who survived Hell entirely on his own, tempted humanity to exercised their free will and offered her choices she didn't realized she might have had. Crowley saw her exactly once, guessed her every fear, every question she wished to ask, knew her doubts and prepared his answers while scaring her half to death without moving one finger and without even one threat passing his lips. Of all of supernatural people she knew, here was the one who understood how humans ticked and was sharp enough to put the pieces together to realize who indirectly put his baby brother in Hell. And perhaps take offence to that.

Crowley, from the scarce evidence she'd gathered, was a good person - characteristic that was not guaranteed as far as angels went from all the ways Lucifer snarked and sniped about them. Description of his siblings included being prone to bullying, arrogant, holier-than-thu and blindly obedient sycophants. She was willing to give them tiny-microscopic- benefit of a doubt, but it didn't help them any that they, Lucifer's closest family, not only did nothing when he fell but helped along and then abandoned him to rot like a roadkill. 

Crowley was different kettle of fish. 

He had learned kindness sitting on humanity's knee, but that didn't always made him a nice person. Following that, he had protective streak so deep and wide that she had a hunch his soft edges would melt like an ice cream on the pavement the moment someone he loves would be in danger. 

He reminded her of Linda. With supernatural powers, immortality and speech impediment, but still Linda.

Hell if she knew why, though.

"Demons wanted a new king," Crowley nodded sharply, likely aware of the possibility, stepping out of the circle like it wasn't even there and gently pulling off the threadbare fingerless gloves from his hands, pushing them inside the large coat pockets and slowly bent his fingers into fists before straightening them again. His knuckles were stained red. "but the only other candidate was a little baby... "

His head suddenly jerked up from his contemplation of his hands as he asked in a strangled voice. 

"Nephilim?!"

"My son." Amenadiel growled from his place and Chloe startled, nearly forgetting he was there. He kept fisting his hand at his side, before he took a step toward Crowley. Crowley snorted, an angry sound that had undertone of a hiss, his whole body somehow showing the level of disdain that she, even with her years as an actress, wouldn't be able to project. Chloe rubbed the bridge of her nose and prepared herself mentally for a task of separating an angry protective daddy angel from angry protective fallen angel, somewhat regretting that she could not pray to God for patience because he was like three fourths of the problem.

"Then pray that the child never sees Silver City and loves this planet with all his might, because I know at least three people who will murder you happily if your child causes another Apocalypse and will not have a strength to prevent it." He turned once again toward her, leaving Amenadiel to steep in his shock and with a low voice murmured. "He went to Hell to protect you and his nephew."

Chloe sagged with relief, something in her heart loosening at the gentleness of his tone and crooked sorrowful smile he gave her. She perched herself against the back of a sofa, her legs wobbly like they were made of jelly. She watched from her place as he took two steps toward the table, picking up the gold marker and lowered himself slowly on the floor, brushing his coat aside. He muttered under his breath, following the signs as he read and, tapping the marker on his lips. He started turning in a full circle on his knees, fingers of his other hand moving over the shapes of the scribbles. With eyes narrowed into thin slits he rose up halfway, leaning over the sofa arm, mentioning to her to pass him one of the books they'd used to draw the summoning. He sniped it from her loose fingers and huffed lightly, closing it after squinting at the text and skimming through few pages. He put it gently on the floor, fingers tapping on hard surface of the cover.

"This one summons angels. Any angels. I suppose you should be happy that you were the one actually opening it because it would have just pulled you in like a rubber band." Amenadiel couldn't hide quickly enough the briefly uncomfortable expression that flitted through his face. Chloe decided to share the particulars with Lucifer, since he always got his kicks off Amenadiel failing at something. And it was always entertaining watching the Firstborn squirm a bit and try to come up with a slew of excuses. " Lucky for you, looks like I happen to be the closest since I am the only one already on earth, so it snagged me instead of straight up from Silver City." He twirled the marker in his hand and then flipped it, pulling the stopper with his teeth, spitting it to the side with no care in the world. He hovered for a second, before he glanced up at her, scarf trailing on the floor, staining it with dust." I will finish this one and you better take very good pictures, because it might come in handy sooner then you'd like. Now. Tell me what happened to get him to land there."

Chloe pulled out her phone and snapped her first picture when he created a perfect triangle over the circle already painted on the floor. He moved to the south corner of it, made a cross, added one more to line to it and finally led an infinity sign from its bottom. Leviathan cross, she is pretty sure it's called, her extra curricular reading was full of this mark splattered all over them. Not that they had explained anything at all, but she couldn't just trust one source and call it a day, could she? 

Chloe walked around, trying to find better angle, catching the sharp profile and a wave of red hair when, with barely a moment of thought he added something that looked like a spoon underneath the cross and finally finished with a line that touched both sides of a larger triangle and the circle, thus creating a smaller triangle. She watched him plant strangely shaped E's and line finished with x and, as her camera kept clicking, thought to herself that for an angel, Amenadiel was surprisingly ignorant of things that could potentially summon him straight from heaven if he somehow missed so much. 

She spoke slowly, trying to gather her thoughts. Of how she considered all her options while taking a two week trip, checking different sources, finding few of the people Crowley has put on the list. How she asked Lucifer for some space and time, both he gladly provided. How she went to Rome on her last stop before coming back to Los Angeles. Of a priest, one who somehow found her, knew of her and tried to convince her to kill the Devil 'for greater good of them all'. She stumbled a bit over her words when she came to the moment she returned home and how awkward it was for some time, how Eve took a runner from Heaven and nearly died because of a stupid necklace. The rest tumbled out of her like it was resting on the tip of her tongue, ready to spill. Father Kinley nearly killing both her and Lucifer. Killing himself in his cell after she confirmed that First Woman was once again walking the Earth. Demons crawling up from hell, taking life of over forty people to masquerade in their bodies. Kidnapping of a little Charlie. 

And Lucifer. One moment there, another gone, all the way to Hell.

All because that stupid Prophecy.

"Prophecy." She blinked out of her thoughts at the first word that fell from his moth that wasn't just a hum. She knew he was likely aware of some of those things, but Lucifer must have had kept a lion share of his problems out of their communication, leaving Crowley in the dark. Typical." You said prophecy. How did it sound?"

"When the devil walks the earth", she recited like it was engraved in her mind," and finds his first love, evil shall be released." 

"Right… " He sat down, spindly legs bent at angles an experienced Yogin would be hard pressed to achieve, turning all of his attention toward her with a razor sharp precision. She started to think that this singular hyperfocus was, in fact, an angelic trait. "Wait...that priest, was he the one who gave it to you?" She nodded, feeling her teeth grind against each other at the thought of that creep, closed in a cell and delivering his lines with a smarmy smile that she longed to erase from his face with creative means.

"So he told you that Mel will bring the down of humanity because of his 'first love'?" She could hear the mocking quote-unquote pantomime even without him twitching one finger. And then he went' That's bullshit.' and something in her head stuttered to a halt. "Worse than bullshit, dear Detective. I mean, Apocalypse already had happened. Amenadiel here is the only one who has a brat that can possibly bring the end of the world, again. But if...and that's a really big if, you get another kid- it's still hearsay considering that the only true prophet is dead for few centuries and if any prophecy that would hold water better than sieve existed, then my husband would know about it. And I'm pretty sure that he would mention it to me. Extensively. Three times a day. He would worry himself silly over it. Aziraphale has been collecting prophecy books long before he got a bookshop and that was very beginning of nineteenth century and still the only true Prophet was this funky witch that blew up her town when they put her on the stake for witchcraft. Agnes Nutter. "

She heard the words. She even understood them. Processed them, too, on some level, but they still didn't hit. She let his voice wash over her as his hands started to fly with his explanation, gentle hiss and all the little noises not belonging to human vocabulary a tad more pronounced while his excitement grew. Amenadiel listened. He was actually tipping forward with a thoughtful frown and cocked head and giving the entire speech some merit.

"That smells fishy to me." The marker nearly went flying as Crowley swept his hand around like he was trying to gesture to the entire timeline of events." Like how only one creepy guy knew how to find you, where to follow you and how Vatican didn't send anybody else once he failed? They are persistent buggers, they would at the very last send someone to investigate. Did anybody 'I'm-obviously-undercover' padre tried to get info from you?"

"None like that." The answer came like on auto-pilot, but it was enough to wake her a bit from her stupor. She raked his mind for the information she knew she had and finally menaged" He said he was from International Association of Exorcists."

"Did he." Crowley bared his teeth, in her direction. It took her a moment to understand that it was a smile. And it wasn't nice one." That's rather a fancy name for Vatican's sadistic psychos that somehow got past the tape. Demons were banned from possession since fourteenth century, there was never more then ten agents at any given time past that date and all of them had issued corporations, so I really want to know how many weirdos who go after autistic and schizophrenic people to chase away 'Satan' that agency sent. I think I'd like to pay them a visit."

She felt chill crawl down her spine with thousands fiery little feet. If it would come from Lucifer's mouth she knew what it would entail. He would be already up on his feet, possibly playing with Corvette keys and racing straight to the source of the problem. And then showing the preps his face like it was ultimate weapon and making them sing, sing, sing like the spirit of Elvis never died in them. 

She dealt with law. 

With rules. 

Some of them bent, but mostly trying to keep herself and even Lucifer on straight and narrow. Crowley was the opposite of straight. He was a curve and angle and a shadow on the wall on the sleepless night. He will not threaten, not kill, not torture, but the feeling that was building in her belly was surprisingly close to pity.

She remembered the glee with which Lucifer talked about some souls that would have slipped through the cracks in the system, pius and self righteous as you please, until Crowley went at them. Wore them down, dragged their pasts, whispered in their ears about mistakes and the consequences and shame. He had haunted their minds with visions of their victims, of sins committed and crossed lines, till the guilt seeped into their bones and swallowed them down and made them drown in the loops of their own making. He didn't bother to corrupt anybody at all, but took the ones corrupted and damned them with smile.

She had read about Raphael. Of angel with domains of Healing, Love, Mercy, and, even if all of those titles weren't true, she understood why in Lucifer's stories none of his siblings ever poked at the flower-loving soft chatterbox full of curiosity and boyish charm.

Crowley might be, for the most part just a person who would make your day just a little bit more tiring, a small annoyance. Spilled coffee, lost keys, missing sock, bus taking off without you. But those things piled up until they become a mountain and anybody who knew that much about how a person ticked was like a dragon watching people poke it with spears in amusement.

You wouldn't like the consequences should it decide to poke back.

"Sounds a bit like a mystery, ain't it? Who told that shithead about you and Eve. Who knew where to find the real Devil out of all con-artists. Who delivered a prophecy in damned modern english and who got it to Vatican for that one madman to hear? Who had planned it for long enough to have a poison - specialized, tailored and right on hand - that could bring Lucifer down and bind him... Got a feeling that whoever it was, they had some very interesting friends on the side and dipped fingers into many smelly, fishy pies."

"Someone like Pierce. " She shivered as the cold snapped at her bones from that revelation. But then..." He was already dead before I met Kinley."

"So?" He shrugged, like death was a poor excuse." I've met Cain. I knew him even back then, in his first life. He was petty. And vengeful. He didn't like being dismissed, couldn't take loosing and delighted in punishing people who didn't cater to his whims. He was always like a pebble in your shoe. But he was undeniably smart. Cunning bastard the likes of you usually only read about in spy novels. " Crowley sat at his knees as he turned his gaze from her to Amenadiel, while her mind kept racing at the implications." He should have never been allowed to walk among humans for this long, no matter how much of a punishment his curse was."

"He was immortal. Not much could have been done until he wasn't. And even then, we are banned from killing humans."

"Funny how murder is the first thing you speek off. I was thinking more along the lines of that one time when I buried him under few hundred tons of rocks. I am sure he had a happy few decades of unearthing himself. I would have loved to watch his face before I would do that all over again, but I got recalled and lost sight of him."

"Cain knew that I can make Lucifer vulnerable."Injected Chloe." Knew that I didn't know that Lucifer's the Devil. I told that cockroach a lot of things. And he was smart, awfully smart for such a slimy parasite, we are still weeding out his henchmen even after we found some of the evidence he had left behind. It could have been a back up plan, so either way we will lose even if we win." It was a theory. It was _good_ theory. It was better then just shooting in the dark and wondering if universe just hates the idea of her and Lucifer not being separated by less than two inches at all times.

"He above may work in mysterious ways, but if that's true prophecy it was His sloppiest work."

"He is right." Amenadiel looked like he would rather swallow a lemon then admit it, his dark eyes moving for a second from Crowley's lean frame to meet her eyes. "Prophecies are tricky and those that are true are both rare and usually self-fulfilling. For all we know it might have been true and had already passed at the Mayan. Or in failed Apocalypse attempt."

"And you are telling me that now?"

"It hadn't occurred to me that it might have been false one until now."

Well, great. She shook off the thought that crawled into her mind to snap another picture once Crowley restarted his work. She had no doubt at all that he would summon Lucifer and not some eldritch monster to eat her soul for her role in the whole fiasco. She was somewhat grateful that he was far too worried about his brother and far too miffled with Amenadiel for how little Charlie was potentially able to bring another Apocalypse to care about her involvement. Which…she was not going to unpack it. Because for it to be another one there had to be the previous one and she has the energy for taking care for only one celestial crisis right now…Wasn't Apocalypse supposed to be triggered be Satan's child? The Antichrist? 

Oh dear Go…someone. Is Lucifer a dad?!

Chloe decided to do a sensible thing and, abandoning her job, went to prepare herself a drink she deserved for dealing with this shit. Out of her own free will, too.

Shit.

But the idea that all of this…that Lucifer's leaving was for nothing…

They have lost so much time already, and yet the possibility that it was not the end, that there might exist a future where her partner would stay on Earth and not be chased away by words of lunatic. 

It was everything.

She was interrupted in her musigs when the lift gave a small ping and Mazikeen, followed closely by Ella and Daniel marched in.

And look who came fashionably late for a party.

"Crowley?"

"Little Mi? 

Mazikeen fell forward, dragging the other demon up and causing him to grunt against her when she grabbed him in a suffocating hug. 

Of course they knew each other. Of course.

Chloe swallowed her disbelief at the fact that Maze was able to show affection to grown ups without holding a knife and/or innuendo.

Wait. _Little Mi?_

"Gah, you smell like wet fur and dust, Serpent. And what's with the pants?" She let him go only to punch him on the shoulder, her lips stretched in a shit eating smile as he rolled his eyes, moving his arms stiffly. He swayed on the spot and Chloe was not sure that is a part of his strange repertoire of moves or if he barely kept himself on his feet. He grasped Maze's hand, dragging her toward the circle. It was not that that made Chloe nearly choke on her drink. It was the fact that she let him. They looked…cosy. 

Familiar. 

"Have been on the road for some time. Louboutins and good old Levis disappointed me greatly. Hi, mortals. Introduce me?" He asked but she could say that he did not care much for their names, his attention already drifting elsewhere. 

"Ella, Dan this is Crowley, Serpent of Eden all around Flash Bastard, first class demon of Temptation and the closest thing to father any Lilim had ever had."Oh…Chloe never even thought that Maze could have had a dad. And one she didn't hate, too. She was certainly vocal about her mother's many failings but there was nothing in her body language that would suggest that she was even briefly uncomfortable with Crowley. Surprised. _Delighted_. With sharp smile softening around the edges. Very nearly…affectionate. All that, but not even slightest bit agressive. It was _weird_...if slightly sweet." Crowley this is Ella Lopez, she likes dead bodies and squishy things and Daniel Espinoza here likes punching people and pudding." 

"Hi! " Ella attacked Crowley was her particular brand of affection, bestowing him with a hug, which he suffered through with an indulgent half smirk and eyebrows arching high on his forehead as she kept squeezing him. Or perhaps it was her '# Team Devil' t-shirt. "You have cool eyes, dude!" 

Said eyes escaped their general round shape when he smiled harder, filling with amber-gold and leaving only small corners of white sclera untouched. Daniel took one look, whined a bit in the back of his throat and joined her at the bar, pouring himself a glass from one of the plentiful bottles. He chugged it in one go. 

"Those are not eye contacts." Admitted to himself Dan, but she still felt the need to murmur 'no' in her glass. "And he is a demon." 

"Fallen angel. Different thing altogether." He didn't seemed to hear her. She threw a glance behind her shoulder. Amenadiel was still standing in his place like a prop, frowning steadily at Crowley. So either he really didn't like his brother or… didn't even recognized him. 

And why should he, really? 

Lucifer couldn't and Crowley was just under his nose for all that time, doing…well, probably what he was doing now - chatting up impressionable human while doing something morally questionable. 

"And we are really trying to summon Satan from the depths of hell and Lucifer was the Devil all this time." 

"Yes." She agreed absentmindedly, patting her ex-husband on his forearm, leaving him to his liquid courage. He was stupidly stubborn about it. It's not like they didn't explain a thing. Gently. With small words. Her, Linda, Amenadiel…Even Maze showed him her face while rolling her eyes as he kept searching the room for projectors like he was in one of those stupid shows full of bad acting, predictable outcome and 'oh my gowd, bless yeah, I had no idea at all' exclamations. Years of being married to him taught her that while he was a decent detective he could be annoyingly inflexible and tended to stick to his version of events until they whooped him over the head. 

Ella on the other hand had a shortest crisis of faith in history of humanity and instead of the world class freak-out she was allowed, she hugged Maze and couldn't be convinced that Mazikeen liked her home. In this case denial went both ways. 

"Do you have a broom?" Asked Crowley nobody in particular, perching on the piano bench, legs open and bent at impossible angles. Ella dropped on his right side with her back leaning against his arm, unbothered by proximity of demon of Temptation, her foot tapping gently just shy of the circle's edge, studying it with interest. Maze slid on his left, sprawling in her own way...no, _mirroring him_ , her hand magically producing a glass of gin and pressing it into his unresisting fingers. 

_Father._ Right. 

No. She will not poke that thought any longer. There are some things a human doesn't need to know and how fallen angels become demon dads is one of them. 

She firmly focuses on the burn of the alcohol as it settles warm in her stomach and follows with her eyes Amenadiel, who had finally moved from his place, coming back with a small vacuum instead of the broom and with long suffering sigh started cleaning the space of the summoning circle from dusty imprints. 

She snorted at Crowley's raised eyebrow and magnanimous gesture with his tumbler toward the angel. Amenadiel pressed his lips into a thin line before he mentioned them over, turning off and kicking the vacuum out of the way with the side of his foot. Chloe took a shaky breath and then another, steadier, slid from her barstool and made her way to stand next to Maze, Dan at her heels. 

"So, we are bringing that wanker back." 

"Not happy about it?" 

"Happy enough to stick a knife in him. That bastard left me stranded here." 

Crowley extracted himself from the bench, glancing at Maze before he circled the golden writing one last time and then choose a spot a little to the side. 

"It's amazing how easy it is to convince yourself that you are trapped by other people choices…it's especially hard to get out of that trap when you've had so little choices in life that you've never tried to search for the solutions and became blind for opportunities. Little Mi, if you really wanted to leave the answer is literally standing there." Crowley waved at Amenadiel. The floor started to gain reddish glint, one mark after the other. "Start thinking not only about things you want but how to obtain them in creative ways. Without hurting those you love if you can, darling. Although…you like it here enough to stay, don't you?" 

"I suppose." Agreed Maze reluctantly, her gaze at the charging glyphs. "He is still an asshole." 

"Yes. Feel free to kick him from me later for not telling me of his imprupu vacation. And you are right. The wanker should have asked." 

The floor was fully aglow once again. 

And Maze didn't go for her knives. Both felt like a miracle. 

Arrival of Crowley was anticlimactic. He just wasn't there, the marks glowed and, quick like a lightswitch, he appeared. 

It was nothing like Lucifer's. 

First it was a rumbling sound, like earth itself raising from its bed. It vibrated in her bones , clear as a bell. Floorboards cracked, blackened, overheated. The air smelled of ash and rotten eggs and smoke. It wavered in the heat closed only in a small space of the ring, blinking like a fatamorgana. And then in a blaze of dark fire and tornado made of ash flakes, he appeared. 

Red. Scarred. Armed. 

_Beloved._

His mouth opened, his chin held high, anger chiseling his every feature until his gaze cleared out. He blinked at them, armor clinking as he changed his pose, red eyes blazing in recognition. 

"Sorry, that's the party set, not home visit pair. " His voice went gradually from multi-voiced growl to his normal baritone. He coughed lightly and threw a glare over his shoulder. Leathery wings plastered themselves closer to his back, two bony hooks swung just over his head like a pair of horns. Lucifer spared them few looks, pointedly coming back to staring at the floor near their shoes without lowering his head and nervously tugging at his cuffs. Leather barely moved from where it engulfed his wrists and he scowled at his own hand in annoyance. 

"Old Scratch." Lucifer's head jumped to his side and he turned towards the voice, wings flapping like a bird's trying to dry off after deluge. 

"Flash Bastard." He breathed out in stark relief. 

It somehow did not came as a surprise that Crowley was the first person Lucifer wished to greet. There was a prick of fierce jealousy that jammed right in her stomach, but she chased it away with ease, and mental eye roll at herself. He didn't want them to look at him when he was…like that. What better way then to hide in his older brother's embrace? Brother who didn't hesitate to reach out even before Lucifer made the half aborted sway toward him, pulling him close to his chest. Apparently, as much as the self proclaimed Devil didn't like hugging most people, the lanky demon was an exception. Lucifer somehow managed to disappear halfway in his arms, pushing his head under bristly chin. His overly large hands were trembling and she felt her heart clench at the way he buried them under the headscarf on Crowley's back. 

"Oh, we are cuddling now? That's new." Red scarred cheek rested against the pale scruffy one. She could not see his expression, but the set of his shoulders softened, and then relaxed even further once Crowley put his fingers into regrowing dark hair, straightening off the worst tangles. Lucifer kept twitching when Crowley's knuckles brushed over his exposed nape and the place between his wings, until he nearly melted, breathing slowly and evenly while the trembling passed. His wings changed colors and then with a small movement of shoulders he made them disappear. 

"It isn't," came a slurred answer. 

"No, it isn't." Lucifer sighed deeply and straightened, still shaky, but his mouth pulling into a shadow of a smile. Crowley's hand rested against his neck, pressing closer at the loss of his warmth vanishing from his shoulder, peering at him with lip trapped between his teeth. "What happened, Mel? You're not calling, not writing anything but tripe and the next thing I know I'm being summoned by Menny and your Detective and you're in Hell. I have a phone, you know?" 

"I handled that." Crowley looked down at him with expression that said everything about what he thought about this 'handling' and then shook his head and kissed Lucifer's forehead. 

"You need shower." 

"So do you…And speaking off, what are you dressed in? Your nail polish is chipped. And your hair is a mess…And" Lucifer jabbed lightly at his brother's ribs. Crowley hissed, pulling away with hand wrapped around his chest. "You are hurt." 

"Later, alright? But…do you have something I could wear?" 

"Take anything you want and go wash I'll stay here for a moment. " 

Crowley looked over the small crowd who was visibly just waiting for their chance to ambush Lucifer, Chloe included, and turned toward the bedroom with a tiny smile that showed one sharp incisor. They heard his laughter at Ella's patented 'hi, crispy snack' kind of greeting and then he faded away from her mind as she finally has her arms around her Devil. 

It hits, somewhere deep and tender, that he bends to her the same way he did for his brother. She never saw him this way with anybody else and that quiet voice that sat in the back in her head that liked to whisper that all of Lucifer's affection was just a trick to get him what he wanted was stomped over in the wake of this realization. 

_Lucifer trusted her._

Frankly, she doesn't even mind the taste of ash on her lips. 


	2. We All Fell Down

Crowley moves his fingers through his tangled wet hair, having lost the grimy, oily feel under the steaming hot shower. The fresh light clothes feel wonderful on his skin. The shirt is just a tad to wide in the shoulders and he is thankful if bewildered for the existence of the simple black suspenders in Lucifer's closet. Even when they dig somewhat fierce in an unfortunately placed bruise on his collarbone. Quietly he steps down from what passes as Lucifer's room and sets himself once again at the piano bench, letting the exited voices carry him without focusing on anything that's being said. His mouth still tastes of vomit, even after nearly swallowing half the bottle of Listerine. His hands keep shaking, clasped between his knees, imagination running wild now that he is finally close, so bloody close… There is a million things on his to-do list, but he is tired and sore like anything, and even after all the scrubbing he did, he still feels like the dirt made a permanent home in the strangest places on his body. He is also stupidly hungry for a creature that has no need to eat, but he is content to wait his turn once the fabled 'best Thai' arrives. Most of all he is sure his voice would fall and drown if he would open his mouth now and explain, because his little brother is…

Perhaps it's not happiness, not yet. But he is right now, at the very last, content even when he looks like something a dog would drag out of a sewer even if cleaner and less resembling an ashtray. 

Hell is cold. 

And Hot. 

Wet, but also dry enough to scrap your body like sandpaper. Hell is everything that and more and all the things unpleasant and bad for you. And it shows on Lucifer, who clings to his detective like a limpet and halfway stops himself every time before he allows himself to smile.

Crowley has made his decisions the moment he arrived at the penthouse. Time is against him and he suffers through the passing of every second, mind calculating and looping around itself when the train of thought escapes him every now and then. And yet, and yet he can't ask, fear filling him full of cold lead and squeezing his chest tight enough to shorten his breath. Or maybe it was just pain.

When the food arrives he nearly bites off his own fingers. It's warm and even if he barely tastes it before swallowing, it is enough of a comfort to unthaw some of the icy cold that had traveled on his shoulders for the last few days. He gulps the dark, bitter coffee, ache in his fingers lessening slightly as he cuddles the hot cup shamelessly. It's gone far too quickly. 

It's good. It's very good. But it's not what he would like to eat. For all his competency as a baker and world-wide knowledge of cuisine, Aziraphale had next to no knowledge of how to actually prepare food. He tries. It's adorable. Crowley suffers through every bite of every meal that his husband burns, undercooks, oversalts, or otherwise botchers and loves him more every time Aziraphale gets his hands on the cookbook. He makes lovely canapes, though. It's the only thing that he has proficiency in, and what proficiency it is… Or maybe it's just that they taste so much better when put on the sixteenth century plate left carelessly on the tartan blanket in the fragrant garden in their backyard after Crowley's knees are dark from earth and Aziraphale finishes his Pliers and Étendres and Glissers (and whatever else one does while practicing ballet) and his neck smells like the most inviting thing in the world.. With both of them holding a chilled glass filled with sour and sweet lemonade while their ducks try to steal the bread and their cat insists on clambering onto the pair of thin beige trousers and when Aziraphale looks at him with sparkling blue eyes like he had found his own place on Earth…

Finally, not being able to stand this idleness and the endlessly galloping thoughts, he cleans his trembling hands with a paper towel and puts them on the keyboard. The melody flows easily from under his fingers. Beloved, known by heart with all its aching longing and shameful desire splattered over the notes as it climbs and lowers, swinging back between a playful flirt and desperate burning passion. It consumes him. Drags up and sums up perfectly every walking moment of his life since he slithered up on the wall to stand next to an angel in the garden of Eden right to the point where they created their own paradise. He startles himself when it ends, soft and sweet and hopeful, unfinished like the story he writes in his head. Shaking limbs slide onto his lap as he blinks off the tears gathered in the corners of his eyes while his gaze remains firmly on the black and white keys.

"That was beautiful. Wow. " Crowley wished now that he didn't forget to rummage through Lucifer's stuff for a pair of sunglasses. Or that he had an audience. He rubbed his eyes, knowing he was fooling precisely no-one and forced himself to bare his teeth in parody of a smile at the Science Girl unexpectedly honest reaction." It sounded like it was about someone…did you write it?"

"For my husband." Talking feels like chewing on the glass. He watches in some sort of detached interest Lucifer's approach till the man slides next to him, Armani black-clad shoulder pushing against his own in affectionate gesture.

"You dog! I didn't even knew you can play! How is that husband of yours doing?"

And when the moment comes most of the words he prepared to say fled, leaving him only with soft and pained words his uncooperative tongue forms and releases onto the world.

"...in Hell." 

"What?" 

"He is in Hell." Crowley was no longer in any state to panic. He had done that. He woke up to the darkness of the brilliant sky and in pain so profound the will to live through it very nearly seeped through him onto the bloodied concave ground where he lay in burned heap. Millions of angels who fell never got to raise up again. Hell was filled to the brim but the Fallen who remembered Silver City could be counted on with both hands with fingers to spare. And now, he had done it twice. He once again scrapped himself up. Dug broken fingers into half frozen half burned earth climbing up with broken wings dragging behind. And then he walked and walked and walked, helpless and alone and any fear he had turned instead to anger and grief but he left his tears and howls at the heaven somewhere in Syberia, unheard by anyone but Him. "Mel…Why I wasn't able to get in?"

"Dear Dad. I... I've closed the gates. They can't stay closed, but right now, theoretically nothing comes in, nothing comes out and that mean souls, even ours, too. I can't just let them float for so long, but I needed time to clean this mess from the inside…I am so sorry, Crowley.

"Don't apologize. You didn't knew."

The quiet is suffocating. Lucifer gets up and comes back with a cup full of coffee that smelled too much like brandy but he accepts it and sips watching the reflection of his yellow eyes in the dark surface.

"How did that happen?"

"We were at the market, wandering about, picking up some things for dinner. Then angel wandered off and did that adorable thing he does when he gets excited about things. "Crowley snorts lightly, holding his chin higher, blinking off the wetness from his eyes when warm fingers search for his free hand, squeezing it tightly in support. His hands ache. What does it say about him that he keeps redirecting his own powers to heal everything else but not the raw scraped knuckles, bones still barely held together? No miracle needs a snap of his fingers, but he is used to it, millenia of habit… it takes conscious effort to not to knit his flesh whole. He will not be tempted. "He has the whole bastard routine down the pat. Swaying on his feet with eyebrows scrunch and eyes like a puppy that has your hot-dog on their mind. The entire deal, all with pouting mouth and 'darling?' thrown in and I am already mentally preparing a list of ingredients that would go with pears and pumpkins and the five pounds of dark chocolate he had designs for and here swoops Gabriel. Catches him. And they are gone. And I'm standing there like a lump, hands full of shopping bags and goddaughter strapped to my chest, six feet from where they disappeared from."

"Gabriel? He is a wanker but that's a bit too much even for him."

"I will kill him, Mel." Crowley put down the cup on the piano when the fragile thing started to vibrate in his hand. His teeth unclenched and stomach filled itself with familiar fire as he raised his head and stared in Lucifer's eyes."I will destroy that fucking bastard. If he shows his smarmy perfectly chiseled face I will look into his pretty violet eyes and gauge them out of his skull, carve him up to pieces, take him to Hell and tie him by his innards in the deepest darkest part of the abyss to keep Abaddon company, hanging inches away from the eldritch Pre-time monsters like a smelly angelic snack. If He above wants him back He will have to get off of his holy ass and dig the bastard Himself!"

Lucifer gambles. Crowley's eyes are dark and sharp, his control over the corporation he wears slips enough to show sharp glittering teeth and blackening of his nails under the golden sheen. He is panting in fury. There is the naked truth in his words…but this is Crowley. So, Lucifer gambles, extends his hand, pulls him closer and swallows at the sharp piercing pain that claws at him when his brother's face falls in the mask of acute all consuming grief. 

"You won't." His voice sounds weak even to his ears.

"I fucking will."

"You are pacifist."

"That's a choice not an oath." Growls Crowley, his fingers cracking the surface of the bench where he squeezes hard.

"Crowley, you won't, not him, not even after that. " Crowley sat stiffly under the gentle squeeze of Lucifer's hand on his shoulder and then he tipped forward, his chin hitting the slope of his brother's collarbone. Warm fingers rested on the back of his neck like an anchor. Lucifer cradled him close and thought of all the times it was Crowley who stopped their siblings from fighting, playing a buffer between them, a mediator who soothed their anger and helped them to see what hurts they nursed behind it. For him violence was the absolute last resort, more a teaching tool when used then means to an end. It was no wonder then that Dad made him an angel of healing…and why he was the best example of why exactly you don't piss of your healer. "In a heat of a moment, in self-defence, in protection, but cold blooded murder? You are better than that, this isn't who you are."

"I don't feel like being me now. I am pissed Lucifer. "Oh, so he was right, that strange thrum of energy that kept singing somewhere in the back of Lucifer's head was his brother's anger. It echoes in Crowley's strained voice. It thrums under his skin right to those trembling fingers where it zaps back, like a broken circuit. "I'm so furious that I'm afraid that if I even try to go to my life now and just wait it out I'll do something I will very much regret afterward. Maybe not even intently, maybe it will happen because I am what I am and reality just listens... but there will be nothing left to fix after I am done. I am afraid that it would make '2012' look like documentary prequel. So I am asking...please help me get to Hell."

"You hate Hell." 

"But I love Aziraphale more." Crowley jabbed him lightly in the side and he found he had stopped breathing for long enough for it to be noticed. His throat dried out like a desert at this quiet confession. It was like looking at the mirror." Oh don't look at me like that."

"Like what?" He choked out finally.

"Like I will turn to ash if you blow too harshly. I have survived it the same you did and, universe willing, I will continue to do so."

"Not 'Dad willing'?"

Crowley instead of escaping his grasp leans into him, his voice quiet but still clear and he breathes out the words like someone who spend too much time holding them back.

"Do you…Mel? Did it ever cross your mind that God, ghhhk that He created free will because He grew tired of micro-managing us?" Lucifer's heart stutters in his chest. "That He got tired of all of us squabbling and screaming in His ear that we want to know, want to have, want to go, want, want, want…And He is like a dad with multitude of kids running around and each wishing for attention and He just…miscalculated. Thought be could handle it but got so tired that He let the mouthy kids be in charge and took a nap and before He knew they turned power hungry, greedy and arrogant enough to ask about what He wants but never follow on what he told them to do. So He just chucks out the ones who cause the ruckus and lets them do the growing up for themselves, while he lets the no less bastardy kids, that are at least quiet about it, stay. Maybe there was never a plan. Or if it was it got scrapped along the way. Maybe we are all exactly where we were meant to be...not by any design but because of who we are and what we decide to do on our own. And He just throws something into the world every now and then to keep us on our toes and to stop us from bothering Him."

"Of course not. Father cares too much to just leave everything to a chance." Neither of them spared a glance toward Amenadiel. He might have spent years on Earth but whatever wisdom he got did not extend toward his absolute faith in their Father. Raphael was all about faith…but it was never completely blind. Trusting. Innocent. Respectful. But never blind. Lucifer was a youngling when Crowley started to ask his questions out loud. His older brother was a philosopher long before philosophy became a thing, even before Dad gifted him with his Caduceus and named him Healer in times when _Death_ applied only to stars and planets. He questioned, always, everything. In Heaven. In Hell. On Earth. If some little sprockets lacked its teeth and didn't click just right, he would be like a dog with a bone until he will have the answer or _an answer_. He would not always get it right, but it didn't mean that he would get it wrong, either.

Lucifer wished he could argue with his logic. There was that raising mix of fury and fear and hurt that came up every time Dad got mentioned. But it made sense, didn't it? Dad's left them to their own devices, wasn't inclined to help even his precious favoured son. He put Chloe in Lucifer's patch, but every time he thought He must have been manipulating him turned out to be just unfortunate circumstances and bad timing. It was infuriating. It was disappointing.

It was eons spent in Hell for nothing.

So, in the end, what was the point?

"Or maybe, while Big Guy cares plenty, He just doesn't feel like He should lead you by the hand. I get it, I'm only measly human, but I choose to believe that He cares about all of us. And I choose to be friends with His sons. And I choose to think that he is glad that you are finding a way to be happy, 'cos that's what every dad wants. Uh, having said that, _boy_ Never thought your dad could be so crappy at communication!

"Our parents never were the most stellar examples of successful parenthood."


	3. Angel, only burnt

"There is only one place they can keep him. " Crowley tapped on the hastily scratched map spread on the low coffee table. Their gazes followed the nail coated in chipped gold polish. Amenadiel turned his head towards him, staring in disbelief.

They all sat in a sort of a circle. Maze in a chair with her legs swinging on one side. Amenadiel and Dan on one sofa and Chloe squeezed between Lucifer and Ella. Crowley was standing next to the table. He had not sat down for more than a minute through his entire explanation even as he was sketching the map with more or less helpful directions from the hellish part of audience. 

And Lucifer caught him swaying.

"That's Pandemonium. You mean they would keep him just under Lucifer's nose."

Chloe put her hand on Lucifer's thigh to stop him from jumping up. The pressure was enough to steal his momentum, and he slid his own hand toward Chloe's, pinky to pinky, till she loosely entwined their fingers together, smoothing the warm skin on the back of his hand with her thumb. He glanced at Crowley with a mix of hurt and confusion evident. Crowley who couldn't help his wistful staring at their joined hands, voice low and far away as he answered.

"He was still an angel when he hit the ground, even if he… Fell, he would still have his Grace. What place better to hide an angel that still has his power then close to another angel? "

"Are you suggesting that I wouldn't know?" And Crowley nearly wished that it would have been anger in Lucifer's voice. He opened his mouth, realizing that no answer he could give would not sound like an accusation.

"Lucifer, I think he was suggesting that this is not a common knowledge." Crowley nodded frantically, watching Lucifer all but melt in relief at the explanation. The Detective wasn't yet finished with her thought." They hid him, and good enough that if you didn't get a word of that then there can't be a lot of people involved. But why? I guess if they wanted to replace you…" Lucifer jerked at her side, like he just now got struck by that possibility. 

"It might have been because we are officially on the unofficial hit list. Whoever did that might be aiming for revenge not recognition. Replacing you…that would make sense, it would strike in all the places that hurt. And if that's the case…Two birds, one stone." Crowley's sclera filled itself with yellow as he glared at the paper under his hand with mouth pulled in the snarl that fully exposed exactly how sharp his teeth were right now. It would mean torture. There was no way in Heaven and Hell that Aziraphale would go along with this mad plan. Not willingly.

"Wouldn't they be punished for going against orders? And, wouldn't that be, I dunno, treason?" Crowley hummed thoughtfully at the question. This Espinoza might not be really bright person but at the very last he didn't fainted on them so far, so something could be said about tough skin on this human. Funnily enough he reminded Crowley of Newton with his 'I'm over my head, stumble over my feet, have no control over my life but I'm gonna deal with this shit anyway' attitude. 

"What is a decade of the Pit to centuries of the good rep and promotion? Any low level demon that aspired to get a grab for Lordship or even Barony would piss their pants from excitement if they had the opportunity to bring one of us down."

"Heck man, I know that Luci deals with this because that's like kingship for you, but what did you two do to piss both sides?" "Lucifer put his hand on his chest in mock pain, muttering about 'no sympathy for the Devil. Crowley finally perched himself on the sofa, true to his nature in a way that could not possibly be comfortable for anybody with spine lacking few additional vertebrae.

"Averted the Apocalypse and told bossess to fuck off by living through execution." And if would only be that easy or half as cool as it sounded. It did not encompass in any way the eleven years of build-up and the all-consuming fear that his friendship with Aziraphale had a settled expiration date. Not to mention all the pain he was promised, regardless which side would win. It would have been nice to know what he knew now, but those stupid memories didn't begin to appear until after Apocalypse didn't come. Crowley knew whole excent of his power, knew exactly where it ended. It grew, over the years. Not because of anything he did on purpose, but because he forgot he had so much of it and spend millenia pushing the limits on what he thought he had. And like a muscle it grew. It still meant he could do jackass about most things in the world except growl at the sky with both his middle fingers pointed up.

"Whoa. Isn't Lucifer your boss?

"Was. But not the direct one. What really happened was a bunch of people in a military base in a sleepy little town a stone throw from London telling Antichrist's imaginary manifestation of the Ruler of Hell and the God's or more likely Gabriel's and Beelzebub's so called Great Plan to fuck off."

"That's so much to unload in that statement… and frankly I don't want to touch it with a ten feet pole. I want to know more about who and where and how someone would be able to handle an angel." Crowley had to hand it to the Detective, she couldn't be deterred for long from her path.

"Lot of us would be able to take one down." Maze gave Amenadiel a truly unsettling grin." Keeping them down wouldn't be hard if he was in one of the cells, but in center of Dis,...that keeps the number below thirty."

"And anybody lower than a Duke would stand out like a sore thumb the closer to Pandemonium they would get."

"Except the servants. Nobody ever suspects the servants."

"I always suspect servants." He gained some curious looks." What?! You'd understand if you had to spend even one damned day taking skin from grapes for a bastard who insisted upon excuse of poor constitution." Crowley smiled at the knowledge of how exactly he kept completing that task. " He was killed in a ownership dispute and I could have kissed the fucker who did that if he wasn't even worse. "

"Whatever you were doing with someone like that?"

"The biggest problem of playing you don't have enough power to be a danger to anybody-and the irony of that didn't escape me- is that eventually you lose some of it to others. It was either showing myself, leaving Aziraphale alone on earth and tangling myself in Hell's politics trapped there or nudging things along depending on human's nature to at least look like I have been obeying orders. And Beelzebub so loved to toss me around like confetti."

"One more reason why most demons hate your guts. " Crowley nodded with a smug satisfied smile. 

"Good. Feeling is entirely mutual."

"I don't get it. Why would they hate him? I mean, you know, more than anybody else."

"Because everybody knew that Beelzebub was setting him up to fail so he could be turned into screaming pile of smoking flesh for few thousand years. She enlisted him on every war that she knew off, sent the untamed helhests -our horses- for him to ride, gave him century long assignments in the fucking Jerusalem right under Archangels noses and put him up to make the Watchers fall."

"That…was nothing to be proud off. All those kids…" Maze didn't even appeared to hear him but Lucifer did, finding his hand and squeezing it lightly, Crowley squeezed back, and nearly jumped in surprise when a smaller hand patted his knee. He followed the hand to its owner and made an effort to smile in thanks.

"Bee is smarter than most but Crowley brough to Hell the most humans, even from the missions he was set up to fail so…no snake on the stick to nibble on. Drives her crazy that he has a style that nobody else was able to replicate and even more that he has a type. There is only like two dozen of earth-bound demons and all of them are about traditions and spend ages trying to get someone down. Waste of time and all but demon has to make their wage somehow. Crowley here is big on choices and letting people live to either regret them or change and try their luck Upstairs. There is little to no fun playing with innocent people who did one stupid shtick and got themselves stuck forever in Hell, they punish themselves enough as it is. Criminals, politicians, dewots who for their whole life thought that they will have one way trip to Heaven?...now that got us some flavour. When he goes, he goes for the worst of the worst, people who would have ended up in Heaven despite being scum and drags them down for us to play with. Only elite of the demons are torturers.Lilim. The rest are grunts and paper pushers. Crowley here has been taking care and entertaining us for millenia with the worst that humanity has to offer."

"And since he is liked by whole score of torturers few tried to get rid of his skinny ass. Cozy, weren't you?"

"Work smart not hard, dearheart. "

"I admit I thought you would be more…distressed."

Crowley pressed his back to the couch, blinking at the ceiling before he spoke, barely above whisper.

"Why? Do you want to see me cry? Rage? Throw a tantrum? We Fell in Siberia, just North-West shy of Sosnovka. I had four whole days of walking to get it out of my system."

"Walking?" Crowley hummed in confirmation. "Couldn't you…"

Lucifer didn't finish. Crowley sat sideways with his feet on the sofa. Lucifer would have scolded him for that but there was a whoosh of displaced air, harsh sound of gritted bones and suddenly he understood exactly why his brother wasn't able to fly his way home. The damage was…extensive. All his wings on his right side were wrapped in thick tread and colorful shawls and scarves, that were keeping what looked like part of someone's wooden fence in place, keeping broken bones still. Some of his feathers were halfway burned, leaving crumbling steams and the awful smell, much like holding cockrell over stove fire. But beyond that Crowley might have as well flown through hurricane with how much in disarray those wings ended up and Lucifer flinched in sympathetic pain over how it must have hurt.

"Found a house, there was a couple and a donkey and a dog and whole score of fluffy chickens. Then this tiny women stood by the fence and screamed 'Misha! Chert!' And from the toilet there goes a man. Pants in one hand, ax in the other, face like he used it to hammer nails and he shakes the ax at his wife with 'Chto za Chert, Anya, _Angel_ On tyl'ko sozhzhen. "Found a house, there was a couple and a donkey and a dog and whole score of fluffy chickens. Then this tiny women stood by the fence and screamed 'Misha! Chert!' And from the toilet there goes a man. Pants in one hand, ax in the other, face like he used it to hammer nails and he shakes the ax at his wife with 'Chto za Chert, Anya, _Angel_ On tyl'ko sozhzhen. 1

"Your accent is atrocious."

"Said the person who wasn't in Russia in the last century. And some of us actually had to learn after Her's temper tantrum at Babel, no shortcuts Mr I Speak Every Language." Crowley smiled at the pouting Lucifer, kicking lightly his foot and threw his chin at Amenadiel. "Still better than cheating." 

"What do you have to me?"

"You want a list or a chart? For someone this old, Menny, you are surprisingly blind to things that are important in life.

"I don't think we've even met…"Lucifer had a wild urge to slap Amenadiel over the head with something heavy. He restrained himself only because it was too much effort for all good it would do. He shared a look with Crowley. It was a bitter one. Crowley hadn't exactly hid who he was since the moment Lucifer shook off the dust on his expensive parquet some hours ago, but apparently the third being who came into universe somehow missed that the fourth was sitting just there, nibbling at his pride. Amenadiel was smart, occasionally, protective- when it suited him and blind as bat when he didn't wish to see what was under his nose.

"Well, anyway… before I knew they sat me down with hot onion soup and put those in their sockets" Crowley made small gesture, pointing at his wings. " and helped re-break my fingers so they could heal the right way." 

"What happened to them?"

"Didn't I already said? We Fell. Me and my angel. I caught him as he was plummeting like a flaming comet, put out the fire from his wings. Tried to slow us down. And then we hit the ground. I stayed above. He went right through. All the way down like a spider down the drain…

"When was that?"

"I was just crossing Estonia border when you called me, so seven days without few hours? I think. I don't know how long I was... out.

"Shouldn't it took you longer with…? 

"You'd be surprised how little Russian people are surprised by a pair of wings. I traveled most of the way on the back of at least three trucks. They were just like 'Priviet, Vladek, u tebya yest' mesto dlya parnyja s kryl'yami?'They were just like 'Priviet, Vladek, u tebya yest' mesto dlya parnyja s kryl'yami?' 2And they would only ask if I minded goats or if I liked vodka. Might have been drunk at some point, even?"

Crowley clenched and unclenched his fingers, his face betraying a twinge of discomfort. Lucifer stood up. With soft sound and a shimmy of his shoulders his wings materialised from their dimension pocket. He dug his fingers in soft tetriaries and tore at it, coming up with a handful to an acute distress from Crowley who nearly broke his barely healing wing-bones with the way he wiggled up onto his feet trying to stop him. It was Maze who interfered, sliding from her chair and holding him up from behind, getting herself a mouthful of feathers and possibility of beheading before she bend him backward with a threatening hiss to 'stop flailing about, you idiot' growled into his ear. 

"I'm the oldest thing that crawled out of Hell, little pain won't kill…" He didn't finish with words but with little garbled noise as his legs gave up once one of those white feathers pressed to his own black wing. His eyes rolled in his head and he dropped in her arms, boneless and open -mouthed.

Mazikeen grunted as she and Lucifer maneuvered the fallen angel to a more comfortable position, sitting him up on the sofa arm with both feet on the leather as six torn up wings stretched behind him like black sails. He tipped off to the side, limp and loose like all his bones got turned to cotton. Lucifer quickly unbuttoned his shirt, sliding off the suspenders along the way, hissing at the sign of purple bruises all over Crowley's side and after a moment of thought he gently put his hand in the red locks, finding egg sized bruise inches behind his brother's ear. The feathers disappeared once pressed to the wounds, and the two of them untangled the mass of ropes and scarves that held his previously broken wings together. All this time Crowley barely moved, barely breathed, beside the twitch of his hands that were healed the last. He half set, propped in place by his own weight and gravity, unresponsive to their hands on his body. Dan grasped the blanket, pushing a part of it between his head and the sofa, draping it over Crowley's body like a toga, while Chloe tucked the edge under his surprisingly cold socked feet.

"Crowley?" Ella, her eyes wide and fixed lifted her hand toward the dark wings but was stopped just before her fingers skimmed the soft-looking dawn.

"Sharp." Maze loosened her grip and left Ella's wrist only in Lucifer's firm but gentle grasp.

"Private."

Maze snorted, her nimble fingers taking the burned off feathers, leaving them in a pile at her feet.

"What he wants to say is wings are the only part of their true forms that can be carried on Earth. Pawing at them is basically foreplay."

"I truly can't believe I am saying that but get your mind out of the gutter Maze." Lucifer looked over the curtain of spilling darkness, floundering for words. "It's not like that, it's about…"

"Closeness." Filled in Amenadiel. "Strengthening ties. It does involve a certain level of intimacy and trust and can be immensely uncomfortable to be touched in that way by strangers. Fallen feathers are okay to touch but I wouldn't recommend it. They have a funny effect on humans."

Lucifer tried to squash down the giddy anticipation at the sight of his Detective's interest. It didn't work. He thanked the stars that he had hidden his wings before the subject came up because he was sure they were now puffed up mess, fluffed up like a startled cat's tail. 

He swallowed and focused on his brother, watching as Ella patted Crowley's knee couple minutes later only to be met by large and black pupils sunk in the sea of gold and face gently spattered by scales in black at the bridge of his nose and garnet at the chin.

"Wow. Is he going to be alright? He looks like he is high as kite."

"Apt description. Give him a moment, those can have quite a kick when you are in pain. Will do exactly nothing when you are okay, which-bummer, but the more pain the harder they hit. He is going to be sore like he went couple rounds against a raging dragon and probably feels like all his nervous system was hurled in the sun but he will be alright. He was lucky, it could be worse."

"Do you only have one pair?" Dan bent and picked one of the feathers, rolling the steam between his fingers.

"Two. I was born after Mum and dad went through their deviantart stage." Thankfully. He still remembered the first time they got human-shaped corporations and his Seraphim siblings going on hands and knees with Raphael growling 'If i was meant to have feet I would have been born with them'. Honestly, while Lucifer had the advantage of previously possessing limbs he felt the same way. Feet were strange.

"Azphl…"

"What?" Chloe shushed Dan at the half grunted, half hissed noise that got out from Crowley's mouth. It was repeated once again, too high, distressed and slurred. Then he babbled, most vowels lost and he sighed, letting the last broken feather fall from his fingers, mourning the ripped off bald patches left. They would grow back in time, his own kind of healing could not fix what was no longer there and that meant long and painful months with near constant itch. Lucifer's hands rested themselves on Chloe's shoulders as he leaned over the back of the sofa to whisper just loud enough for all of them to hear but not loud enough to distress his brother.

"He is calling his husband, Aziraphale. Crowley could find him anywhere in the world and now he isn't able to feel him."

"Should we try to wake him?"

"No. Let him rest."

@

"Dear fuck, I need a smoke. Got anything?"

"Yeah." Lucifer threw her a look, his fingers still tangled with her own as Crowley made low grunting noises trying to stretch seized up muscles. He was awake for barely few minutes, eyes a bit glazed over but more conscious than the state of stupor he was in for better part of an hour. He kept hissing for more than half of that time and Lucifer barely let go of him for few minutes, holding his clawed scally hands at the soft distressed noises.

"Go. I think we too need a few moments for ourselves."

She sees them off and doesn't resist smiling both times Lucifer looks back to see if she was still where he'd left her. It feels good to know she was missed even if that expression breaks her heart sliver by sliver. She feels Ella jumping at her side once Crowley put a cigarette into his mouth, his golden eyes flashing in the sudden blaze, the tip aflame in sparking red and thin string of smoke raises upward. Lucifer rolls his eyes, mouthing something too quiet to hear but it looks remarkably close to 'show-off'. Chloe smiles inwardly at that as Lucifer starts patting himself for a lighter and his face falls when he realizes it's not there. He stands there for a moment, lost and tired, hand in an empty pocket. She doesn't hear the words, but whatever Crowley says next wipes that expression from his face and leaves something thoughtful. Crowley leans on the metal railing, peering over the edge and she hears a snap. On the pad of his forefinger a playful fire is lit, dancing gently. Lucifer stares at it for few elongated seconds like he is on a verge of important choice and then shakes his head. He raises his hand entombed in a golden-white glow, just like if the sun itself choose to shine just that much brighter in only one spot and he takes a first drag, letting the smoke out through his nose. He looks both a little conflicted and peaceful.

"I haven't done that in eons." She watches as Lucifer plants himself next to his brother, leaving few inches between them. Crowley closes the distance, their shoulders touching and whatever he says makes Lucifer melt in his spot and nudge him gently with his hip.

She startles a bit at the cup that appears in her line of vision but accepts it gratefully from Ella's hand, taking a bracing sip.

"Soooo…This happened."

"Yes, it happened."

"Aren't you jealous?" Chloe snorts as she follows Ella's eyes. It was nice for once to be in the joke, but she could see why her friend might have sketched, drawn and colored different conclusion. She had rarely seen Lucifer so…mellow. It was clear as the day that Crowley made him feel safe and had learned loads of tricks to turn Lucifer's overactive mind away from his spirals. Not to mention how affectionate they turned out to be toward each other. Since she remembered, there was always that thin barrier around Lucifer, the 'look but don't touch' shield that didn't slip even when he was flirting. The only times it broke it left him exposed, vulnerable. Squirming in a place like he was a snake that grown too big for his paper-thin skin. Before he'd left she nearly got what he had with his brother, that level of trust that made him unselfconsciously curl toward the other, touch that didn't leave his skin trembling in sort of aftershocks. She will get there. His hands no longer twitched in her grasp. He didn't shy away from sitting so close that their legs were pressed together, hip to knee.

It won't take long, taming him like a wild spooked cat to accept her closeness, helping him to stop expecting pain from her casual fingers wandering _places_. 

He made her feel comfortable with herself. Beautiful. Powerful. Able to take on any hardship knowing that he will do anything in his power to help her get through it. 

She wanted to be that person who made him feel the same way. 

Wanted.

Needed.

Essential.

She could live without him but… _why_ should she do that?

"No. I am not jealous." She swept the room with her eyes, noticing Amenadiel and Dean talking in the corner and with a playful smirk she mentioned Ella closer. "That's Archangel Raphael."

She clamped her hand over Ella's mouth as the garbled _**what**_ went through. Well, maybe she didn't think it over, but it was just too funny. 

"Lady problems!" And that worked as a charm for the pairs of eyes that found their way to them. Amenadiel's head turned so fast that he just might have got a whiplash. It hadn't worked on Crowley and it just figures that he wouldn't be embarrassed by that since Lucifer mentioned he was sometimes a _she_. But he just raised his eyebrow and then chortled like a 'proper demon' would. She shooed him off.

"I am sitting in one room with three angels."Ella's eyes grew wide before she made high sound in the back of her throat, pointing at Chloe's chest." Wait, isn't Crowley married to angel? How does that even work?"

"Something about the difference between being born and made?" They sit in a moment letting it sink." He is also older than dirt."

"Sorry daddy, I've been naughty." Chloe giggled in her cup as Ella fake fanned herself and hummed. "They say all good boys go to Heaven but bad boys bring Heaven to you.3

Chloe lost her fight and laughed even harder when she noticed Lucifer's arms shaking. But what truly broke her resistance was Crowley bowed nearly in half with hand hiding his face and his ears steadily blooming with blood red blush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Misha Devil! What Devil, Anja, Angel! Only burnt!  [ ▲ ]  
> Hi Wladek, do you have a room for demon with wings?Hi Wladek, do you have a room for demon with wings? [ ▲ ]  
> Julia Michaels - Heaven [ ▲ ]


	4. Birds of a feather

"No, no storming the castle now, you need to rest." Lucifer hated being the responsible one. It was all the work and no reward.

"I rested."

"No, you were unconscious after walking for days trying to get…where were you even going to?"

"Oxford. I wasn't able to go through, not like this, but Adam is there…"

"'Dominus illuminatio mea'.4 Bit on the nose that. But ah, how is he…?"

"Did I tell you what he is studying?" Lucifer shook his head." He nearly took Theology and Religion because he thought it would be hilarious but, ultimately, he choose… Music." Crowley smiled at Lucifer's conflicted reaction. Like he was both pleased by the choice and disgruntled that it seemed to matter to him at all. He continued, unprompted, after taking a sip from his glass, giving his brother a moment to chew on his thoughts." That's his second year. He adores it. He is a good lad, we don't have to do that much to keep him straight and narrow. Well…relatively straight. That cheeky brat of yours seduced my hellspawn."

Oh, that he can be proud of, alright. 

"Wait, you have a kid? Both of you?" 

"Warlock Dowling's parents have less parental instinct than cuckoos, I adopted him and he has been my witchling for close to decade."He shrugged at the raised eyebrows." Happens when you raise a kid since he was in the nappies thinking he is the Antichrist. And I am not overly fond of absentee parents. "Lucifer flinched at his side. " Nobody blames you. Adam last of all. "Crowley moved a bit to better see Chloe as he explained. "Adam is my godchild and he was made without Lucifer's consent or participation. Both Up and Down wanted their war so badly they went around Lucifer - God probably too, but don't take my word for it- because of so called 'Great Plan'. Be glad that we were able to get to the right child in time to stop the Apocalypse and for him to deny the claims he had to become the King of Earth. Ta-da, world is still running, you're welcome. Now that storytime is done I should call them again. And the school…damn it if they fire me because of this bullshit. "

"Wait…you teach? Children? Out of your own will? How is that you never told me?" Lucifer appeared horrified at the possibility of a classroom full of snotty kids." Tell me you teach yoga."

"I teach physics, you dolt. I told you I work in Oxford. Why in hell would I…why yoga?"

"I thought you meant the city, not he Uni! And you can't teach, you have to have a degree for that!"

"I finished Siena! And Oxford! And Cambridge and couple different schools along the way…"Lucifer looked at him, sceptical." What?! Do you know how boring it can get when you are left on your own for literally thousands of years with only direction 'go up stir some trouble'? A lot Mel, a lot. But it leaves a lot of room for interpretation, so there is that. I've done a fucking Edward Cullen out of sheer boredom."

"You don't exactly strike me as the learning type."

"Why, because I have great hair, have most of my shit together and don't work in McDonald's to pay off my student's loan?" Dan was not the only one who looked abashed at the assumption. Lucifer really should know better, shouldn't he? It was Crowley and Raziel and Jophiel that went around together nerding over everything, having those deep meaningful disputes, even if it was only a talk about the nature of a hedgehog. To be truthful, hedgehogs were quite new invention back then, so it wasn't nearly as silly as his memories would suggest. 

Crowley waved in unbothered way at the mumbled half-hearted 'sorries', his shoulder pressed closer to Lucifer, like he was one giant mood-ring, able to read whatever thought slid through Lucifer's head." No worries, but you will not tell my husband any of that, because he will make me _read_ and he happens to be _librarian_ and I'm happily pretending that I whammied my way in instead of slapping doctorates on the table. Capisce? "I still can't believe you've married a sweater-wearer." "And I can't believe I was able to sell my university crawl to the office as 'branching out the ways to bring the downfall of humankind by gaining and spreading knowledge in direct opposition to church' and yet both of those things happened. Hell's Dark Council bought it and ate it with the spoons after Spanish Inquisition,5and barely gave a thought when I went to Italy and studied in Florentina Studiorum Universitas,6 just after Galileo got sentenced..."7 The playfully offended tone slid from his voice and Crowley turned his gaze toward open balcony doors, pulling his leg toward chest and wrapping one arm around it with the familiar sort of pain etched in the tight pull of his mouth. Lucifer briefly wondered what passed in this nearly two centuries gap between those two dates and how many other people sauntered away from the mortal coil remembering his overly curious brother hanging over their shoulders or taking their last breath under his hands. He too remembered far too many people that slipped through cracks enough to leave an impression on immortal. The ache had not lessened at all. "Anyhow. Can I borrow your phone?"

He got up in one sinuous movement, fingers lightening quick as he composed the message on Lucifer's back-up phone...well, one of them. Long and, going by the uninterested tilt of his pressed lips, probably formal email. He leaned on the thin frame of balcony door as the tension slipped off his shoulders. He tapped the screen with flourish and then smiled fondly. His hand raised to his ear, voice turning tender as he spoke quietly to the people on the other side of a phone call. Lucifer startled as the supple hand gently tugged his ear when he very obviously tried to eavesdrop. Detective shook her head at him, smile lodged in the corner of her mouth the rest of her face in stern fake disapproval. He grinned at her, mouthing the words he heard.

"Yes, I'm alright, not a feather out of place. Call Anathema for me?"

_"...warpath. Bring him back?"_

"Of course I will bring your Da home." 

_"….call?"_

"Yes hellspawn, I will call you, yes, as often as I can. Take care of each other."

_"They put on temp replacement."_

"Uhmmm…Who they put in my place?" 

_"Flabby Berth."_

"Ugh, not her, she always upsets my system. Don't laugh hellspawn, chaos is a system. "

_"Don't have system…pick and run with it"_

"Cheeky brats. Hellion, can your parents take Warlock for Christmas? I don't want him to be alone." 

_"...coming?"_

"No, I just don't know how long it will take."

_"…will be back?"_

"Yes. Yes, I will come back. _We_ will come back." 

_"...Kick…"_

"Oh, I will, kiddo, I will... No, no kicking ass for you, but you have my full permission to paint ugly mustache on every art containing Gabriel. Nothing would annoy this vain bastard more."

_"Consider it done, Uncle Crowley._

"Good. But if anything tries to grab you, you have my full permission to make Gomorrah look like a Sunday picnic. Remember that Lucifer and I are only prayer away. No, no bother at all. Now go to bed, it's fuck am there, you should be sleeping. "Crowley clicked his fingers smiling as he leaned against the balcony rail in a slightly terrifying way that made a palm tree standing in a corner shake unnaturally in its pot. "Of course it's not fair. Demon. And no cursing your teachers."

_"Me or Adam?"_

"Either of you. Leave it for Christmas. Please hire a clown and you can borrow a duck. Oscar, he has been eyeing me with his shitty little duck eyes. He shan't be missed. 

_"Uncle Aziraphale will have your head if something happens to Oscar."_

"Oi! He knows what he did. It's either being used as a tool of mindless revenge or I'm finding new recipe for honey glazed duck."

_"Deal. But you have my presents?"_

"Yes, you capitalistic bon-bon. No, no searching for it. I mean it. I still have your pictures in Kermit overalls and I will not hesitate. Honestly, who taught you that deplorable habit?"

_"You."_

_"Played by your younger self, Uncle."_

"Story of my life."

Crowley chortled, ending the call without saying goodbye. He threw a look over his shoulder eyes boring right at Lucifer who looked like deer caught in highlights. "Write to your son you idiot instead of being a peeping Tom. He is twenty not a wiggly smelly newborn. Honestly. If I'm needed I'm over there."

And with that Crowley put the phone in his pocket and sauntered to the clean part of the floor, dropped in the crouch and licked a tip of golden marker before putting it to the wood.

"Lucifer? Did he just threatened a duck?"

"I said that he is smart. Correction _he is smart_. I just never said he was even remotely sane."

@@@

"I can't give you long. "

Lucifer stared at him in confusion. Long to do what?

"Here is a list."

"You wrote a list?"

"Isn't that excessive?" Asked Dan as he threw a look over Lucifer's arm at the page full of tiny scribbles that could be titled 'Handling and Feeding of One Aziraphale, Principality of Heaven as Written by Anthony J. Crowley.' Maybe to humans it was slightly over the top but he appreciated some clear instructions instead of flailing blindly trying to comfort traumatized angel. Regardless how long one would stay in Hell, Hell stayed with you for longer than that. 

"I know my husband. You feed him. Good food. On a plate. Nothing greasy. Sushi is ok. Give him comfortable clothes. Sweater. Something old and little worn and freshly laundered. Cocoa with real chocolate, no less than seventy percent and two sugars. Two feet of space at all time. You don't touch him. No patting on the arm and no hugging. If you raise your voice I will find you and I will end you. If he babbles, he babbles and you let him. When he starts worrying the edges of the sweater either bottom or sleeves you politely ask if he wants any of those books and you give him room to rest. You check in every now and then. He will probably not answer but you can put some lavender tea next to him. If he wants to touch you'll know, but no hugging if he doesn't hug you first. Got it?"

That's…that's more than he expected even after reading the list. But why…?

"It's not first time someone hurts him, isn't it?"

"No."

"And the list..."

"Work in progress." Crowley's mouth was pulled into unhappy little line. He took a deep breath and Lucifer felt the weight of his trust like it was a physical thing." This is him doing better. So, promise you'll take care of him. "

"Promise." Agreed Lucifer before his thoughts gained up to his mouth. "Wait. It sound like you will not be here to do those things yourself."

"Hmmm. I told you I can't give you long. A day." Lucifer wished to know why his brother was looking so damn apologetic while he was giving him more than anybody else had ever dared to. Nobody tried to fill in his shoes. Not even Azrael, as much as she said she liked him, had ever offered just one hour of respite. Lucifer had been dragging himself out of Hell each time knowing that he will be pushed down, that nobody wanted the throne he would give with no hesitation. And eons later his older brother looks close to tears at the thought that he can't give more then he is able." No less than twelve hours but no more than twenty four. We…Lucifer? Dearheart are you…?"

Lucifer falls in his arms with no dignity, grasping at the back of Crowley's shirt and ignores the awkward tiptoeing on his side as Dan gets out of the way. Lucifer tries to stop the sting in his eyes, to calm the heart that palpitates in his chest trying to tear itself out. Familiar whoosh of wings comes before they become entombed in the soothing darkness of his brother's wings. Time stretches as Lucifer trembles surrounded by warmth on all sides and finally manages to breath out a choked sentence straight into Crowley's ear.

"I don't expect you to give me anything at all." 

"Be quiet, dearheart, we both know that even one hour here is more important then an eternity elsewhere. And if it is in my power to give you that hour, you will have it." Crowley smiled. It was small. Brittle. Painfully honest. "And, besides, I need a punching bag so I will hit it hard but give my very best to fix everything that comes my way. You will take care of my angel for me, yeah?"Crowley's shoulders relax under his hands at his short nod." Good. Now, Mel, do me a favour and snog the hell out of that human of yours before she climbs you like a tree."

They smirked at each other in the soft mullish light that penetrated through the gaps in abused wings at the short squeaky sound and Maze's chortle.

The curtain of black fell but Lucifer was strangely prepared for that. His eyes were still stinging when Crowley winched his wings close to his body but didn't hide them. And this gave him an idea. A brilliant one, too. 

"Well, turns out king of Hell can't really abdicate but…I can share. Kneel, please." Crowley frowned but slipped onto his left knee with half shrug, hand making an aborted gesture for a place where the sword would normally be until he settled both on his raised leg. He was looking up with head tilted and wings fanned and less a supplicant then anyone in his position had any right to be. Lucifer put his hands in his own hair like an old fashioned Hollywood star, dragging his fingers through the curly hair, feeling up for something that was rather harder to manifest into this plane of existence until his palms closed up on the crown. It slowly emerge in the thick ropes of smoke and solidifies. It's thick silver band adorned only by row of small rubies, surprisingly elegant for all it represents. He flips it with no regard and then gently deposits it on Crowley's slightly bowed head. It changes. Grows thinner, then sprouts thin spikes of different length until it reminds Lucifer of the Snow White's evil queen, except its color melts into pale white gold. It encases Crowley's head and climbs with sharp precision over his forehead in a swooping thin triangle. And there, finishing just above his eyebrows it sports one single stone at its center, barely a shard, but deep and hot orange tinted with red like a glaring eye of vulcano. The whole ensemble melts like it was never there to begin with within seconds.

Some shards of Hell are remarkable unsuitable to survive for long in Earth's atmosphere without blowing into smithereens.

"You are sure you will be okay?"

"I'm gonna act like they are all plants. I'm great with plants." Lucifer threw a glance at the trembling palm tree and decided that perhaps it will not end up in disaster. "Hey Maze, want to come with? See the old pile of trash?"

"Nah, I'm good."

"Want something from Hell?"

"Surprise me."

"Knife it is."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Lord is my Light - Oxford's motto [ ▲ ]  
> 1478 [ ▲ ]  
> University of Florence [ ▲ ]  
> 1633 till his death in 1642 [ ▲ ]


	5. Pawing Hell With More Then Good Intentions

But heavy is the burden of the wise ones  
When no one understands a word they say  
The Jabberwock never bothered anyone  
But nobody believes him to this day  
And why should they? ,8

The ping of incoming message pierced through the tense silence startling Lucifer. He had just enough time to grasp the meaning of the song before it was quickly followed by another message and one more, till finally it became a rather deafening wave of constant high pitched pings of the song's first note that lasted a whole minute before he got a grab at his phone and turned it to vibrations. He waited until his ears stopped ringing and his smartphone finished its spirited dance on the bartop and then slid his finger over the screen. Seventy three messages from the unknown number. __

_"It's nice to know Hell stinks the same way it did since the last time I was in Dis. Bit like overcooked cabbage, curdled milk and onion mixed together with burned hair. So homey."_

Lucifer stared at the message and then looked wide eyed at Aziraphale sprawled on his back with a slew of cushions supporting his back.

The trip to and from Hell were…boring. Truly, for all the stress it had caused for both his brother in brother-in-law, Lucifer never seen resolution so anticlimatic to _any_ problem. They've found Aziraphale exactly where Crowley suspected he was held, snuk in as quiely as thieves, some quick finger-snapping took care of the guards, Aziraphale once freed from enchanted sleep and the hell's wrought iron broke a chair on Dagon's head… Which was amusing. All in all it was the last exciting rescue Lucifer had ever partaken in and for once he was ridiculously glad for it. 

Especially since half the problem was Aziraphale loudly - which on a stealth mission was inadvisable - if drunkenly protesting being thrown over Lucifer's shoulder and getting carried all the way to Earth in all his wiggly glory.

Maybe that was the reason he sported a crossover look of something that cat dragged over and startled poodle. 

At least they've convinced him to actually lay down…if only after he had suspiciously sniffed at his cocoa and smiled blindingly with knowing look and wet eyes.

Lucifer didn't wish to know how long he would have continued to be contrite if they didn't started with that. It explained why at the very top of Crowley's list, underlined was 'do not let Aziraphale be left unsupervised. If he is in trouble he will go search for bigger shovel.

"Crowley send a message. From Hell…How?"

Aziraphale snorted mildly, raising himself onto his elbow with a pained grimace. Lucifer made his way toward the angel and joined Chloe on the opposite sofa, holding his smartphone like it was another Azrael's blade.

"That's Crowley for you. If the way doesn't exists then he makes way."

"Crowley isn't, Crowley happens." Murmured Lucifer, shaking his head in disbelief. His head shot up at the gentle throat clearing. "It's something Azazel used to say before he went stark raving mad, well, more mad then he already was. 'Crowley is something that happens to you'. "And now Lucifer finally understood that Azazel must have known who Crowley was from the start. Except Lucifer was never really good with riddles and metaphors and Azazel liked being as clear as muddy water hidden under sheen of moss on the foggy night in a dense forest. Still more articulate than Abaddon, though. It's not hard to be more articulate then a guy who never stops screaming, but then what else can you expect from the angel of the abyss whose name means literally 'Destroy'. Lucifer has to wonder when exactly he came to _be_ , since Abaddon screams were echoing in Hell long before his handsome self plummeted down through time and space. Maybe Crowley will know. "He was kicked up on Earth because he couldn't work anywhere without Reality bending all around him. Of course it was before I knew why, so we just thought that he was either spawned as Hell's Genius Loci or as an future echo of one of the Mischief Gods since we had few of those. Demons around him always had the strangest luck...I think Zoran had gained additional hole in his…"

"What does he says?" Blurts out Chloe, her hand pulling him closer to her side and he abandons the thought of three-hole nosed demon with prominent halitosis but a knack at math to look at his phone.

Lucifer scrolls over down, occasionally commenting. Too small roads, too little light, ash, ash, and then,-oh look!- more ash. After long litany of somewhat amusing complaints he nearly scrolls past the first picture. He frowns, taps it and then enlarges it, gaping disbelievingly until soft hand slips the phone from his loose fingers. There is a brief sharp ache in his temples as the memory emerges.

@@@

Crowley sits on the throne with a touch of anxiety and anticipation churning in his stomach. The anger is still there and it sits changing between hot need to retaliate with pain and haste and cold fury that demanded slow and thorough application of _pressure points_ for delayed gratification. He is still undecided at this point.

He wiggles in his place. It's not the high throne overlooking the entire Hell in sort of symbolic thingamajiggy but the more comfortable one hidden under the oval-like half open roof on the high dais of some sort of amphitheater. Smaller raised chairs, eight of them, grow from either side of it, four on the left, four on the right. Below the platform space opens into a vast plateau. Blanket of ash lays on the ground with visible darker stone where the dust was upset by thousands of feet digging groves as they took their places. It's remarkable orderly procession, at least at the very front where the highest of the Hell's order climbs onto their traditional raised steps, leaving the mass of minor demons behind them. 

Crowley swings his feet a bit as they hang over one arm of the throne, subtle illusion covering his presence as the Princes take their sets, then Lilith on the only throne that truly matters anything beside the one he sits on, followed by all the rest of what passes in Hell for aristocracy. It takes time. There is close to ten million demons in Dis alone -Lilim, imps, those sparse Fallen, not to mention the spawn of Hell itself- and gathering all but the skeleton crew is…problematic. Mostly boring. He has been sitting there for about four hours now, mind whirling over possibilities. The chair found itself more comfortable then it expected to be, ash that drifted to land anywhere near his borrowed (if slightly more 'him' then it started as) wardrobe kept drifting into the noses or similar orifices of random demons and the flask of whiskey he'd nicked from behind the bar conveniently forgot that it had limited capacity for holding liquor. 

Crowley stretches like a cat in the sun, letting the wave of his crimson hair flow over the arm of a throne and then he appears.

And is met with sudden, deafening silence.

He tips the flask, taking a fortifying sip and then turns his head, poison yellow eyes trailing over the crowd and the one and half meter space that is left exactly in the middle in case the king has a fantasy to take a walk among his subjects. He smiles. It's not a nice smile. Long fingers dip into a space at the foot of the throne, taking handle of a crown abandoned there like a piece of trash. It hangs on his finger as he slowly unfolds, sits properly and then sprawls lazily. He puts it on his head where it gleams bright in the ambient light coming from the sky.

"We are going to do thing a little differently, now."

"You!" As if to prove that intelligence was not a base on which the demon can get a promotion, a figure steps from his place and takes off, running onto the steps in fury.

A weapon appears in Crowley's hand, two prongs of the staff slide on both sides of demon's neck. Crowley stands in one sinuous move and pushes hard with ease of eons of experience and the Duke of Hell is send flying, staff prongs pinning him down on the very bottom of the stairs. Crowley follows. Slowly. Predatorily. His usual sway of the body even more pronounced as he stalks his prey that writhes on the ground like a maggot under the bird's claw. His wings open and fan out. There is a thrumming sense of satisfaction filling his veins as he pulls the weapon from the ground, swings it around and impales the demon, and the listens to the amplified echoes of the agonized screams.

"I'm sure we will get along just fine." His smile is sharp and mocking as he stares at the gathered masses, voice dripping from sarcasm. "Can I get a wahoo?

@@@

"Oh." Lucifer comes to himself hearing Chloe's voice like it came from a deep fog. 

"I guess we shouldn't have been worried, then. Da always had some large fangs for snake so little."

He nearly jumps out of his skin when Mazikeen crunches on an apple right next to his ear, peering at the screen in Chloe's hands. He disregards the obvious innuendo and swallows the comment resting on the tip of his tongue, mostly because he is still somewhat shocked at the sight of his pacifistic brother committing acts of casual violence. His head feels a bit like it's stuffed with fluffy cotton and he blinks quickly, trying to dispel the sensation. He throws a not-so-covert glance at the angel who tries and fails to get up and see for himself that his husband was doing quite alright where he was. 

Soon enough the phone is pushed into Aziraphale's fingers, and they listen to his soft gasp as he considers the picture. Lucifer knows what he sees and and wonders if he realizes that Crowley didn't had to stay even as long as he did. It was both act of love and revenge on those who had wronged them, but his brother was never one to just knock some teeth to make it even and call it a day. It was not how he worked, not even when he was an angel without the Fallen part. And as terribly angry as he was…

Hell was in for surprise.

The picture itself could have probably swipe some nice trophies and accolades in the world of freestyle photography - if for nothing more then for a sheer drama. Nothing said louder 'I have you by the balls' then addressing a whole court while leaning playfully on the long forgotten staff jammed between ribs of a still living demon and with archangel's wings all loose and relaxed and as deadly as they've always been. It's a damn good shot. Done from a side, what meager light Hell produced hits squarely on the golden head of the staff, illuminating the twin heads of winged serpents. A thought slides itself lazily into his mind and then it shocks him at the core. It's not a picture. It's an imprint taken right from someone's mind…He does a quick headcount and pinpoints the source. 

Apparently the rather glamorous portrayal comes right out of Asmodeus' mind. Well, nothing like getting Lord of Lust to have hots for you.

Amenadiel, with a lazy tilt leans closer to see the picture over Aziraphale's arm. He touches the screen, probably to enlarge a part of it and then he chokes, pulled into the memory. 

"Raphael? But he was supposed to be…" Amenadiel raises his eyes at Lucifer, his dark skin ashy as he shakes his head. "It cannot be." Lucifer will gloat about knowing this later. For millennia. In details too, as he paid special attention to the wide-eyed disbelief plastered all across his brother's face. All the little micro-expressions. The brow scrunch. The doubt. The 'oh-no-I-have -another-brother-in-hell'. "We thought he had left." Here it comes, a solid world view crushing down. Amenadiel leans back against the chair with mouth closing and opening like a fish. It was, Lucifer had to admit, validating. Crowley's fall alongside him. 

Terrible. 

Unjust. 

Scarring. For both of them. But it meant, it meant that Lucifer wasn't alone, he was never alone, in defying their Dad. That Crowley too saw something that was wrong with the picture and went down with him. And then Dad applied His usual level of assholery and took Crowley's memories and blurred his face in Lucifer's mind and they both had to spend thousands of years abandoned by all and scrambling for survival without knowing that there was someone out there they could have leaned on.

Crowley's fluffy angel puffed up, nodded briskly in confirmation of Amenadiel's guess...and smiles. Lucifer is suddenly stricken by the fact that Aziraphale, who looks like a proper baby marshmallow, can pull an expression like that. 

It's as sweet and as cold as a bucket of ice cream.

He remembers Crowley's little smirk and muttering of how his lovely plush husband is a proper bastard angel. He believes it now when he sees the satisfaction in the corner of that plump soft mouth, the indulgent gleam in his eye. The fierce love that shines right through, sharper than hell-made blades. He sits properly up now, waving off any assistance, pulling the pillow closer to his side as he breathes sharply in. When he peers up at them, Lucifer's has to press his lips together to not start to giggle at the tiny wiggle he does. And seeing how Amenadiel is still doing great impression of rainbow trout is just the icing on the cake. Lucifer gathers Chloe as close to his side as he dares and nearly melts into her when she reaches for his hand, cradling it between her own. 

"That's Hastur. " Aziraphale points at the picture as his other hand goes to his side, like he was trying to reach for something. Something like…a sword. Of course, he had one of the flaming swords. Hopefully it was less problematic than the last one. "I believe that my wily adversary will not be satisfied with just…this. He has been bothering us for some time. One would think that being slapped on the posterior with a flaming sword would leave a lasting impression, but alas, from what I've seen some demons don't have two brain cells to rub together."

Ah, so that's what happened to it.

"You used holy artifact to…?!" Aziraphale does a little nervous dance at Amenadiel's scandalized tone, one hand grasping at his clothed thigh, before he glanced once more at the picture. His spine straightens out, mouth pulling in a line before he nods sharply, white curls bouncing.

"Ah, yes…That's it. We were rather in a bit of a pinch." His nervousness seems to disappear minutely, he leans forward as if he is parting with a secret, voice low and perfectly innocent. "I do wonder whose help Gabriel managed to get to pry off the equally flaming rake that Crowley jammed in his left buttock."

Lucifer blinked, blinked again and then threw his head back and laughed for a first time in what seems like ages, warmth of his friends pressed closely on both sides and first tendrils of hope that maybe things will turn out alright with Crowley's particular brand of luck thrown in the mix.

Aziraphale slowly scrolls through the messages till his eyes widen and he giggles behind his hand. It's terribly endearing.

"Ah, this might interest you." Aziraphale clears his throat. 

_"You remember those unspeakable horrors we had locked up in a abaddon basement? Maybe you should check up on them more often than once an eon, one nearly got out. One paw out of its own hell it ate a bunch of imps before we threw it back and changed locks. Bitch stank more than that skunk demon…Hobi, Hubie? You know her. Small, feral, bites for good morning, found the way to make millenium meetings worse. No social grace whatsoever but dreadfully good at crowd management. I'm going to put her in charge of mapping the main road traffic and figuring out how to not make bottleneck in the middle of a damned city. City of the damned? Well, once I make her swim in a bathtub of ketchup. Bazil doesn't like Hell, how do you feel about some rain? Or snow? On the other hand I always knew that tomatoes are Ours. Those buggers are evil."_

"What does he means…is he gardening there?"

"Probably. You can take Crowley out of Eden, you can't take Eden out of Crowley. I noticed that he had employed his particular brand of plant care on your palm tree." They all look at the said tree. Its lush green, straight as a ruler and terrified out of its pot. "Our front garden is much in the same state." Aziraphale covered his mouth with his hand, like he didn't want the tree to hear his next words. "In direct contrast to our back garden because neither of us want to try ever again carrots this scared for their small orange bodies. "

Lucifer calmly accepted that his brother was a plant lunatic. Lunatic who was making things grow in a place where nothing was supposed to do that.

"There is no sun there! No actual source of light! I know, I've tried, but Hell isn't a planet but a plane and it's still bound by gravitation…well, wonky as you please and Dad only knows how it didn't turn into a proper sphere shape as it should have." Lucifer glares at the ceiling with contempt about this unwieldy design before he shakes himself off and admits more quietly." It kept collapsing on me every time… "Lucifer takes the phone out of Aziraphale's hand and shots quickfire text. The answer comes nearly the same moment he taps 'send'. "So how did he…oh two suns, three moons I have sun in Hell, bloody hell. The calculations alone…"Lucifer does the quickest calculations without dipping in the details and arrives in conclusion that he would have been able to do that, he could probably do this even better than that with his personal flair - he was Morningstar after all - if he thought about it for bit longer instead of giving up after few tries and then feeling sorry for himself. He feels pressure on his shoulder and blinks at Ella who nearly climbs up onto him to see the screen. He shows it to her and smiles giddily at her suddenly wide eyes. "He made them orbit each other, and since they can't go all that far up for lack of outer space they can't be that large, but still…white dwarfs, so about the size of the Sun. They are closer to each other then to the surface, so when one gets too close four others jank it up. It's almost perfectly planar, see? All of them go in the same direction like you'd wing around a yo-yo but at different speed. It's a bit like an endless dance where all the partners know how to step around each other only instead using feet Crowley used their mass and perfectly calculated barycenter9 and his own particular brand of 'I don't care how but it will happen' …but how did he make them?"

"The same way you would have?" Drawled Amenadiel, like he wasn't staring at the short clip of the dancing celestial objects and the soft orange glow bathing the tall obsidian spires. The light shined bright enough to think of a Earth's setting sun but not harsh enough to hurt the mostly nocturnal demons, which meant that Crowley tweaked the reality enough to change the atmosphere. Lucifer bit down the irritated snarl that was trying to escape him at Amenadiel's insinuation and frowned at the bottom right edge as he re-played the movie. 

"No. I take my light from within, little instant protostar," Lucifer snapped his fingers," and then give it a bit of a spin, which you should have already knew if you had paid any attention at all. Light particles first, then the fuel it will need in the future to burn. It's tiring and takes raw power, not to mention Will, lot of Will. Light is extension of me, Dad given, like those pesky additional limbs. Crowley can't bring it by himself…he has to make it from the scratch. He needed to use matter. Heat it up and spin it around. Bring it up to fifteen million degrees for nuclear fusion. Give it a nice little something of himself so they'll knew their daddy. For him star-shaping was a hobby, not a job." Lucifer smiles at wide eyed humans as they watch the movie on the loop. "He used to blow up planets and older stars that were my first attempts to make new ones and blow _those_ up to see what would happen if he shakes them up with his handmade life cocktails. It was glorious. We came up with star nurseries that way, lots and lots of stardust to make baby stars. Of course, since neither of us went up making new ones in some time they will be all grown up only in like fifty million years or longer, but there is enough debris to…"Lucifer paused as the realization hit. "Ash! That's what he used. It explains why Hell on every other picture is so suspiciously clean."

"Okay, but aren't stars radioactive? And don't they…you know, kinda…blow up?"

"Not until they run out of hydrogen. It'll be easy enough to give them a little snack every few million years before they get cranky, start stealing from their siblings and go novae on Hell. And did you seriously just implied that somebody who made stars would be inconvenienced by _radiation?_ "

"What else he'd been doing there?"

"He sent a link." Dan, patted Lucifer on the shoulder to gain his attention."I'm officially impressed."

"Tell your bro he is evil."

"No!" Protested vehemently Aziraphale. "Don't you dare! He will be insufferable. I nearly succeeded in stopping him gagging at being called sweet, I will not let you ruin that."

"Owww, you guys are so adorable." Ella tried to touch Aziraphale's hand but he slipped past, fingers clenching on the sofa arm. She aborted the movement and instead focused on Lucifer's phone."Is that…roomba with a plastic knife?"  
They bend over the next picture. And quickly found it was not a good idea. Lucifer performed the chastest kiss in his history on the other side of Chloe's head as she massaged her forehead. He turned on the TV and with some problems the message board found itself in HD on forty two inches screen.

"He named it Sir Stabbington." Ella giggled at the clip of small cleaning device bumping with vengeance into someone's leg, trying to jab the blunt bendy utensil into vulnerable flesh.

"Oh…that's. Those are demons, ones that imprisoned Aziraphale. He bound their essence so they will spend the rest of their existence as little cleaning robots with plastic knife."

"That and now they're bound to clean the Hell whatever they wish it or not. I'm more interested why the roads are shiny. Wait, is that…" Maze whistled through her teeth.

"… Mammon's property? Yes it is. " Lucifer points the tall building with gleaming window-frames and panes splattered with gold and silver squiggles. "Lord of Greed. Loves gold, gems, everything that shines. And Crowley started his project right under his nose, he is going to adore it. That road leads to Pandemonium and it's literally the only road Mammon takes because he rarely moves from his property. That's...that's bloody brilliant."

"Where the stones came from? I mean everything else looks so drab so where did he got them from?" 

  
_Rubies, Dearheart. There is enough ash here you could paw Hell with something better than good intentions._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheshire kitten (we’re all mad here)  
> S.J. Tucker [ ▲ ]  
> In astronomy, the barycenter is the center of mass of two or more bodies that orbit one another and is the point about which the bodies orbit. It is an important concept in fields such as astronomy and astrophysics. [ ▲ ]  
> 


	6. Prophecies Are For Quitters

"Interpreting prophecy is a tricky business."

Lucifer didn't really wish to poke that subject with ten feet pole but Chloe wasn't deterred by his very subtle prodding. If you can call whining 'not now' subtle, of course. They were alone. Or as alone as they could possibly be with only Aziraphale left to keep them company. He wished that Linda could have been available for a moment, but she had to balk after she contracted some nasty human virus that left her talking like Goofy and coughing her lung out of her ear.

"Yes, we heard that part." Aziraphale raised an unimpressed brow at Chloe before he continued. "It's more of an art then just reading it and applying it to your current situation. It takes calculations, knowing about world-wide events and verifying your sources. Frankly, I have heard a bunch of true prophecies that had nothing to do with catastrophic events but to a birth of a neighbours calf and some distant aunt of the prophet breaking her leg missing a step on her way to the saturday market. True predictions are rare, very rare and seldom apply to those who know about it."

"Crowley said that they are self-fulfilling. "Aziraphale lightened up like a christmas tree at mention of his husband. It was adorable. Or it would be if he wasn't looking like a wax figure, grey with fatigue.

"And he is right in that. He never bothered with the subject, but he is wonderful sounding board." Aziraphale stared at the written lines of text, tremulous smile sliding from his face. "The fact remains that you can't stop true prophecy from working its course, but if you interpret it right you can prepare for its aftermath, which is the only reason for prophecies to even exist in the first place, I think. So, regardless of your intentions if that priest was right, you can not stop it from happening. You can however plan what you do next. Once Crowley is back I will go to Vatican. Oh…he will be so mad.

"Who, Crowley?"

"He is overprotective." Protested Aziraphale and Lucifer has the distinct impression that he was pouting. But he was right. Crowley had a proclivity to become as protective as freshly woken mother bear every time he as much sniffed any trouble. It was annoying. It was wonderful, too. He should have said something about his problems months ago. Maybe Crowley wouldn't have been able to help but he would have made Lucifer feel better. 

"You just got kidnapped."

"Not intentionally." He groused, like it changed anything.

"Now I see what he meant. You are trouble, aren't you?"

"Me? I am not the one who encourages our ducks to chase away the postman! And he has his designs of Oscar, I just know it!"

At this point Lucifer arrived at the conclusion that his brother and brother-in- law were two ridiculous middle-aged peas in the pod and frankly worth each other. Also what it was with them and ducks? Poor Oscar only knew.

"Well, all that being said, dear boy, how long he will be in Hell?" "He will be back tomorrow." Lucifer hated the resignation in Chloe's voice. "No more then twenty four hours." "This is not what I meant. I was comatose for nearly all the time I've spent there. Whatever Beelzebub wanted to accomplish she hadn't done anything to me, at least nothing that couldn't be healed on Earth. But I have no way to measure how long is a day there. A week? Month?" "Time fluctuates in Hell. Like stretching bubble gum." He was fibbling. It was a piece of knowledge he did not want any of his humans to have... "More or less?" "Two to fifty hours for every hour." "I hope you understand that if he doesn't come back before eight pm tomorrow I will either drag you there by ear or open the gates myself."

"I have no intention of letting him stay for longer then we agreed. Besides he will be pissed if you try. And the gates are sealed."

"That wouldn't be a problem for long."

"Crowley hadn't figured it out."

"I know my husband. He is meticulous about his wings. Frankly, vanity is his favourite sin after sloth. And I took one look at him before we left, so yell me, how long has he been even conscious?" Aziraphale threw a glance at the bunch of burned feathers and the planks kicked under the wall to be dealt with later.

"Few days. "

"Then believe me when I say that he would be able to come to Hell regardless of your help and I lack neither the knowledge nor motivation to do the same for him."

Well, they were worth each other. Two overprotective _assholes_.

@

It was third time he came by and first one Aziraphale actually responded to having his name called. He had holed himself up some time ago in the guest room, small stack of books on his side and hadn't made a peep for hours.

Lucifer was pitifully grateful that Aziraphale didn't even try to mention how utterly miserable he appeard. He chanced a glimpse at the floor-to-ceiling mirror plastered on on wall. Yep. He resembled a puppy left on the side of the road in a downpour and the redness of his eyes didn't add him any points. He was so looking forward to the next few hours, before…

"Chloe is still here, she…she said she will stay." She pushed him, not a minute ago toward the guest room, kissed him in a way that made his toes curl in his shoes and promised to stay. To stay the evening. To stay the night. And to wake up with him in the morning and he didn't even thought to object when she went to the elevator with 'I'll be back in five with food'. He just stood there rooted to the spot, grinning like a loon. It wasn't his proudest moment but who cares about pride when faced with a whole night with Chloe Decker?

"Crowley told me a bit about her. Brave girl, not everybody bounces back from seeing us as we are. Here, your phone, I think Crowley wants to tell you something."

"Did you really just spend the last two hours looking through restaurants in LA? "

"Warlock taught me how some time ago. It's quite wonderful invention called 'Yelp', although I am unsure why anybody would choose such an unappealing rude name. I've made reservations for tomorrow, join us? 

"I will be in Hell. " He doesn't care for the way his voice breaks halfway. He doesn't want to. There might be sun in there now and ruby colored ground and Crowley's usual level of sanity applications...but it will never be home. Only a miniscule bit better than his normal not-so-gilded cage. He was glad that Crowley actually seemed to have some fun in that shithole and that his destruction-filled plans were rather fission-fusion based instead of leaving Mariana Trench deep crater in capitol and burning to the ground everything else. At the very last there would be…something to come back to.

"What? Oh, no I don't think so, well no more then for a week or so later on, to tie some loose ends I suppose. We were rather hoping that you would agree to spend Yule with us."

"What are you prattling about, how...?" The reality slides once again when he is sucked into memory, or more like a snippets of memories, holding his fingers for just tad too long on his phone screen. 

It begins like that.

_  
There is an apple tree in the middle of Hell's square in Dis. It's enormous and so full of fruit the branches nearly brush the ground under their combined weight. What's more, it's colorful and _alive_. Apples in gold and red and tart crisp green, larger than his fist and small like cherries. Some of the branches are still covered in white-and-yellow blossoms and the smell is overwhelmingly lovely. He watches as a petite demon with porcupine spikes instead of hair snags a lush red apple and snarfs it down in three large bites, core and all, their teeth large and sharper than sharks. _

SNAP

_  
An orchard blooms in the previously unused inner grounds closed by the tall walls of Pandemonium._

_But maybe not an orchard-a garden- it's not only fruits, after all. Deep purple plums, fat pears hanging low and plentiful and soft fuzzy peaches. A sole lemon tree stands in the biggest patch of warm orange light. Tomatoes crawl on the grey walls supported by trellis, fighting the good fight for their own survival with mint and strawberries and black like raven's gimlet eye blackberries, but not crossing some invisible line to overtake the rest of the garden. There are four demons he can see, baskets in hands and paws and claws full of spoils. Mouths, snouts, beaks - all of that along with clothes stained from the juice. They fleet around in a way that speaks of how familiar they are with this space and they look very nearly…content.  
_

SNAP

_  
The barrels in a building with low hanging ceiling are full of cider. They are hewn from one block of stone and put on a steel moving platform, six per one. They ride on with one very tall demon - who looks like an offspring of crane and equine- walking along for supervision as mechanic legs clack on the pavement. Deep red glass heart of this strange monster pulses after every leg has its turn and then the dance starts anew. It walks across the street full of roombas armed with plastic knives cleaning the ash from ruby-covered ground and deftly avoiding the similar monster that comes from opposite direction along with large three-legged palomino helhest with calm orange eyes that is dragging a small cart behind._

_A sign hangs on a tall black polished spire, stylised much like a ox's horns with two lightly curved blades creating its snout and three eyes without pupils painted in gold. It's the same sign that hangs on the barrels and the machine follows its course along those posted signs with no prompting, stopping only once it reaches a bar that belts out cringe worthy cover of ' _Disco Inferno_ '. Its red heart fades as it lies down, metal belly clinking softly as it settles. It's welcomed with the choir of voices and demonsteel mugs pile up on the counter as the foamy drink flows.  
_

Lucifer stares at his phone, uncomprehending, till his mind finally registers a text under the picture of one glossy apple sitting on long fingered hand.

_  
"Angel, do you remember Persephone?"  
_

Lucifer remembers. Remembers the tale of the six little seeds of a pomegranate that tied the one once known as Cora to the halls of Hades. It doesn't matter which version humans will take as the more probable. The kidnapped bride tricked into spending half of her life with husband she didn't wish for or the one where she crawled into Hades like a conqueror, pomegranate juice staining her mouth as she gorged herself with gleeful delight, fawning husband spellbound and lovesick at her side. The end results were the same. 

**  
"Crowley, it's the cider, isn't it?"  
**

_"Nope. I started with the cider, since it was easier to convince them to drink alcohol. It's weak as mosquito's left hook, but I'm told it's tasty. It's in everything I raised here. It's enough to bind every demon who as much as licked the bottle cap into staying in hell. Every fruit, every veggie, each and every leaf of basil or mint. I'm frankly starving here, dinner?"_

**"Aziraphale has made reservations. Whose bar was it?"**

_"Moloch's. Asmodeus was so jealous she opened five others. She has that funny double horned ram on the noose. I think she stills has some feelings about the whole banishment from Egypt thing. Might be smart to not tell her that I was just messing about, eh? Still, seems I'm getting my karma back. I'm afraid I hooked them on ABBA and some old disco jams. I shouldn't have done the disco floor."_

**I'm afraid to ask why.**

_Bored. And it was funny at the time. Hey, you want to see what I did to Beelzebub, Dagon, Dromos and Squee?_

In true Crowley fashion he doesn't wait for an answer…or maybe he did wait, considering the difference in time. 

Hamsters. Hamsters in wheels. Giant red-eyed fluffy balls of a multi-coloured hamsters in closed wheels attached around a giant metal tube like flower baskets on a balcony. About sixty, maybe seventy of them, caged with pieces of fruit in metal bowls and running as fast as their short pink legs would carry them. 

Square glass panes lie on the ground under the deep purplish light mixed from the sulphur pools, lava lamps and ruby spires. Panes that happen to flash blue lightning under the feet of dancing, -were they dancing or having convulsions? -Demons.

"Oh, Dad."

"Something crazy or something impossible?" Asks Aziraphale, his mouth already raising up into smile. He sits up more fully before he motions Lucifer to take a seat.

"Bit of both." Lucifer tugged at his sleeves before he made his way toward the soft chair tucked in the corner of the room. He dropped into it, feeling it swallow him pleasantly, melding around his tired body. "I forgot to ask how are you feeling."

Aziraphale had a long pillow in lovely shade of fuchsia on his lap, fingers plucking on the flower application as he seemed to curl into himself at the inquiry. Lucifer felt his misery down to the very bones, knowing first hand how only being in Hell can mess you up, and that's without the trauma of being pushed down from Heaven and being held captive.

"I am…I will be better once Crowley is here." He admitted like it was a shameful secret." I was conscious only for short moment, but never doubted that he will try to rescue me, that he will come, you see. Not even for one moment. But I was so afraid that….He was hurt. So badly. Did he told you? He caught me nearly at the very beginning. He put the fire from my wings with his own. Kept screaming and cursing all the way down holding on to me, slowing us down. My wings…"Lucifer doesn't comment on the silence. He knows full well how Heaven likes to dispatch of it's problems and that it usually begins from taking care of their greatest advantage. He shuffles his feet, loudly, pointedly and the lost look slips from Aziraphale's face as he blinks rapidly, eyes shining and glossy. "He turned us at the last moment so he was the one who hit the ground first. I could hear the crack of his bones when I was wrenched from his grip and it followed me down. I knew he would try to save me…if he was alive."

Lucifer wasn't good at many things, as hard as it was to admit to himself. Trying to come up with something to say to his brother-in-law who went through traumatic episode but still his only fear was his husband survival was rather beyond his skillset. He finally choose Miss Lopez' favourite method of showing affection and settled for giving Aziraphale rather awkward, if heartfelt, hug, Crowley's words echoing in his mind. He nearly crowed in triumph when the angel let him get closer. Damn, he missed touching people who didn't smell like they dunked themselves in the sewers, had proper amount of limbs and weren't prone to stabby reactions. Aziraphale gave good hugs. Soft and undemanding. Comforting. He didn't know exactly when their hold changed and it was him that was gently gripped by the nape and breathing in the aroma of old books and lavender. Oh Dad, Aziraphale smelled like an old granny even put in Amenadiel's clothes. He giggled. It came out more like a sob. Crowley nearly died. His big brother nearly died and he wouldn't know because the only one who knew what had happened was in Hell with him and it could have been years, decades before he would realize… 

"He lives. Doesn't he? I saw him, for a moment…"

"You are writing to him."

"It feels like him and yet…He wasn't hallucination, was he?

"Nope. You hallucinate often? "Asked Lucifer, fully expecting to see the kind of heavenly stuffy 'I am an angel' spiel. Aziraphale chuckled.

"Oh, only when we get our hands on some illicit substances. "Lucifer realized that his mouth was left open and promptly closed it with a click."My dear boy, we live on wine and éclairs, and have been around since the down of times. There is little that either of us didn't try."

Fair was fair.

There was little that Lucifer hadn't tried either.

"He was there. Crowley. He is alright."

"I think I will not fully believe it until I will have him in my arms again." Aziraphale took a shaky breath. The grey hoodie, so soft under Lucifer's cheek, was soaked right through, dark wet patch growing where he was pressed above the angel's heart. When was the last time he let himself cry?

"Did you know I was quite anxious before meeting you?" Lucifer blinked through the tears, trying to look at Aziraphale. Soft fingers wiped off the wetness that gathered in the corners of his eyes as his face got cradled with soft small hands. "Oh, don't make that face, dear boy, it was nothing against you. You see, when the whole Apocalypse- that- didn't- happen happened we saw what we thought was, well, you. It's only after Crowley started to get back his memories we realized that this was some sort of shade or a construct, but it was…terrifying. I was convinced that this creature would be the last thing I saw in my life, that it would claim Crowley's life. And those poor humans who were with us…I was irrationally afraid that if I would meet you all of it would come back. "Lucifer's grip loosened as he tried to extract himself from Aziraphale's grip but the angel only held on him all the harder." But it didn't."

" _What?_ "

"See, my darling husband was right and you truly are quite bright, loving, wonderful person and I am glad I could get to know you, even under not the best circumstances."

"Thank you, you are not so bad yourself, now, anyway I'd better…"

"Lucifer." He stopped in his tracks at the tone and reluctantly faced the angel." Don't worry, we will fix this.Things will turn out alright."

"Why? Why would you help?"

"You are family, dear boy. That's what family does." He can't deal with the simple honest truth that comes from this strange creature who had only just met him so he focuses on the first thing that comes to his mind.

"The prophecy…"

"Crowley got me enough information that I know where to look without wasting too much time. But you know that it doesn't matter, do you? Regardless of what is true you are needed here, on Earth. What better way to protect your loved ones then to be where they are? Now go entertain your lady, I will soundproof this room so don't worry about being too loud. Chop, chop.

"Wanna smooch?" Lucifer wiggled his eyebrows and Aziraphale laughed wetly, his hand making shooing motions. Lucifer goes. He goes, crawls into his bed like an old man and thinks quietly to himself that while he has so many siblings, there is only a small handful of people who can be called his family and he would not exchange them for anything in the world. How could he? How could he ever do so, when they were the ones who from all the beings in creation choose _him_?

His humans went as far as to summon him. 

And while Crowley went to Hell for his husband… he fixed it for him.


	7. It Feels Like Coming Home

It's mid-morning when Crowley lands on the balcony with a light stumble, wings trailing after him, and not a moment after Aziraphale tiptoed out of the guest room to grab a new book out of Lucifer's fairly exquisite collection. He abandons the shelf he was pursuing and rushes in, hands grasping Crowley's forearms. 

"Darling…" His voce breaks, eyes searching for any visible harm, but sees only bone-deep weariness. Crowley's hair was chopped in half, caught into tiny bun and several shades darker then it should be, and Aziraphale ponders over all the times in history when Crowley took scissors to his beautiful locks, not liking the pattern that emerged. Skin wan and peppered with slate-grey scales. He gathers his husband closer, fingers of his right hand trailing over the slate-grey scales peppered under wan, dry skin of his husband's jaw. 

"Angel." It feels like being hit in the stomach. Aziraphale remembered little of his trip to Hell, bar the persistent sensation of wrongness he carried with himself even now. It does not disappear, but that one word was enough to stumble into Crowley's chest from sheer relief that turns his legs into jelly. 

From his place under Crowley's chin, with lips pressed into his hair he spies an off-white scrap of fabric tied just above his husband's elbow. Aziraphale reaches to untie it and stops himself, hand hovering and trembling when he gets better look at it. When he raises his chin Crowley's eyes slide from his, his other hand patting a leather bag resting on his hip as his ears redden. 

"Crowley, is that..." 

"Yes. I couldn't fix _this_ and I needed something of yours with me, even if it's blessed ugly tartan. I'm so sorry, Aziraphale." He offers two pieces of half melted gold that were once Aziraphale's Principality ring. He takes them, lets himself have a half a second to mourn it and then shoves the pieces into his pocket, like they are nothing more than candy wrapper. He toys with the small, smudged tartan ribbon, _his_ tartan ribbon, then climbs up on his toes to kiss Crowley's cheek. 

"Neither of us needs a piece of gold to tell us with whom we belong." 

"Hmm, you've lost your ring, didn't you?" Aziraphale thought that an answer enough was his stubborn silence. Yes. Yes he did lost it, melted straight from his finger as he went down with only a fistful of black feathers for company as he plummeted into Hell. It could have been worse, he knows. He could have Fallen for real, not only in physical sense, bound forever in this oppressing darkness. He could have died. He could have _lost_ Crowley. "Dove, what do you think about tattoo?"

He sighs in Crowley's neck in exasperated fondness and feeling every single second he did not hear that beloved voice needling him, praising him, loving him…He swallows and nods in the hard raise of a collarbone. He never wants to be reminded again how it was to be without anything of Crowley with him. He untangles himself gently even when they are both reluctant to go and moves his hand over the slope of Crowley's wing few times before they are winched in and hidden away, leaving him in a strange garb that does everything to make Aziraphale's mind tumble down straight into his lower belly.

"I didn't see you in so much leather since Lindisfarne. June, wasn't it?" He asks in a way he hopes is casual, but gathering by the twitch of Crowley's mouth it misses by a mile.

"Yes. And you couldn't shut up over how you had to eat cabbage for a whole year."

"It was singularly one of the most unappetizing vegetable I ever tried. I can't even look at stuffed cabbage and it _does_ looks quite delicious…" Aziraphale muses a bit about unfairness of lasting impressions as he tugs Crowley away from doorway and terribly upset palm tree. The poor thing would have never survive Crowley's particular brand of affection for long. "Oh! We had that haddock stew with wild berries and carrots once we landed. Nobody could make it the way...what was her name...

"Gerd. " Supplies easily Crowley, hooking his fingers in the metal parts of his red and black armour. Aziraphale reaches out, fumbling a bit at the clasps on the shoulders, before they click open. It's like a one giant puzzle with parts encroaching on different territories but gorgeous when wrapped around body this lovely.

"…Yes, thank you dear, the way Gerd made it. It was just falling apart on the tongue. "How many parts that thing was made of?" So what is with the armour? 

"Adrammelech got to me. Dis -capitol of Hell- is old fashioned and Adrammelech is all about 'fashion' and more annoying than whole room full of yapping Chihuahua and since people are unexpectedly stabby there and he was so willing... Ugh…Reminds me of 14th century." 

"It wasn't _all_ bad." It was. Honestly, Aziraphale can scarcely think of a one good thing that came from that age except the moment when it ended.

"The only good thing that came from that time is radius astronomicus when it made its debut and even that is questionable since China did it first, so... nope. Nothing good." Crowley hands whirled around as Aziraphale tried to untangle the piece that was hooked over the shoulder, before he was slightly moved away with one pointy hip." Careful with the bag."

Crowley unwinds it himself, it's clasped at at least three different points before all the silvery hoops dangle free. He puts the large bag on the low table and digs with both of his hands inside. It snarls at them. And then he comes up with two wiggling masses with blood red eyes. One is nearly fully black bar the pointy white ears and a tip of a tail, and it reacts with all the fury a hellhound is able to muster. Well… with all the fury a two pound puppy is capable off. The other is dappled grey, snarling, tiny white teeth showing, too busy twisting and trying to bite off Crowley's hand to even notice him.

"Yes, yes. Very scary. Much fear." Crowley lightly shakes the snarling puppies dangling them in the air. "They are runts of their litters but I think, enough for us both. Name one."

Aziraphale looks at the puppies squirming in Crowley's grasp and focuses on the one that is trying with all its might to eat his face. He raises his hand, voice barely a whisper, and once the hand lands on its head it shifts, black-turning brown and white. Aziraphale ends up scratching behind the ear a slobbery pudgy Bernardine. He takes hold of the neck and lies the wiggling dog on his lap. A 'Saint Dog', now, there must be some irony there.

Crowley takes the other puppy and sits on the floor, his elbow digging into Aziraphale's thigh as he turns to face him. Freshly minted Irish Wolfhound licks enthusiastically his left ear from her place on the couch. He slides closer, fingers grasp the cotton of the grey hoodie and they both surge forward, hands clenching behind their backs as they hold each other desperately hard.

And then Crowley holds himself completely still, all his energy gone and he waits. And then it's Aziraphale that leans in, relaxes into him and Crowley braces against him, holding them both.

It's only once Aziraphale's in Crowley's arms he falls apart on the seams. His hand grip hard on the unyielding leather and he whines in Crowley's chest like a wounded animal. In turn Crowley hides his face in white hair and his breath hitches as he keeps pressing fervent hard kisses to the cheeks wet from tears. They are breathing into each other, stiffened fingers taking hold on skin and clothes.

"I was never afraid. I knew you'd come for me, you always do, my dearest." Crowley couldn't stifle the sob that got out from between his tightly pressed lips. Aziraphale's fingers dig hard into his sides as his tears fall onto the soft white mop of his husbands hair." Shhh... I am alright, nothing to cry about. Darling…"

"You were gone, angel…"

"And you've found me. My black knight in leather armour." Crowley chuckled through his tightened throat slapping at Aziraphale's thigh.

"Oh, you bastard."

"Yours."

"Mine."

And he was content with that.

@

"Angel…? Is there somewhere where my brother and his paramour won't be spying on us? It's getting ridiculous. Yes, I hear you. No, covering your face with your hand doesn't work Lucifer."

"…"

"I still hear you."

"Damn."


End file.
